A Castle by Any Other Profession
by firsttimefan
Summary: Two notable deaths on Broadway find Detective Kate Beckett, yet in trying to stall the body count, she finds her life intersecting with someone she had always dreamed of meeting - until she met him. An AU to the pilot episode.
1. Chapter 1

**Standard disclaimer. **

** Just an AU idea that came to me. Hope you like it.**

**A Castle by Any Other Profession.**

2004

How long had it been? Katherine Beckett trailed her still chilled fingers lazily up and down the length of the polished wood arm rest, willing the rhythm to sublimate down to her tight nerves.

Four months?

She let her eyes rest on the dropped curtain on the stage, unfocused as her mind wandered, backtracking until she could see the moment perfectly. The last time she had been here, she had been in a skirt. The light cotton had threatened to catch on every chair arm she passed when she navigated the cramped aisles, so it must have been summer. If she narrowed her eyes, she could still remember the scent of old sweat and fresh cologne on the elderly gentleman who sat next to her that night. He had been alone too.

Summer, so six months?

It had been a last minute decision to come out tonight. She didn't check to see what was playing or even if there were any good tickets available. She had been offered a programme at the door but declined. There was never enough time or light to read the small print dedicated to the actors, production, set, story and history; glossy pages she used to collect and read closely at home after good performances.

She blinked and the details of the curtain she had ignored in favour of memories became clear to her again. The rich maroon velvet was starting to fade in places, the stage lights bleaching out some of the pigment. The heavy bottom was coated with dust where it swept across the battered black stage.

The homeliness didn't detract from the thrill of anticipation she could feel running relays along her nerves. She checked the face of her watch then for something to do she scanned the theatre again, noting the areas that had fleshed out a little since last she looked.

The seat next to her was as yet, unoccupied, but further down the aisle she could see friends bent and scanning their copy of the programme. In their fifties, Kate hazarded, they were dressed immaculately with understated jewellery which trembled under the overheads and they were bronzed with an unmistakable sheen of excitement having left their husbands alone for the night for this long awaited girls' night out. Or so she supposed. Kate couldn't make out the thread of their conversation over the muted droning of her fellow patrons- the room was almost full now, but she caught the word 'Rogers' and felt the relay runners under her skin give a little kick and run faster.

It had been a long time, but then there hadn't been a mention of Rodgers on the Broadway playbills, posters or sprawling bus ads for a long time. Rodgers had taken a long term hiatus, venturing only occasionally into off-Broadway.

It seemed tonight would be a reunion of sorts; Kate Beckett seeing Martha Rodgers take on the lights of Broadway again.

Kate's gaze shifted from the trio of whispering women to the heavy curtain almost as if she could see through it to the red headed woman she now knew to be somewhere behind the set, ensconced away in the maze of corridors and small rooms getting her makeup perfected, or perhaps reading over her lines one last time.

Before she could muse too much on the possible location of the actress, her neighbour for the evening arrived; a portly sort of man in his sixties, wrapped up to his eyebrows in thick winter gear. She stood to let him past her, their stomachs meeting even when she crowded as far back as she could, the back of her thighs imprinting uncomfortably on the edge of her chair. The fabric of his coat still held onto the chill New York streets despite the warmth of the theatre- she could feel it seep through the single layer she had allowed herself.

The man smiled, or at least Kate suspected he did- the corners of his eyes scrunched up even though his mouth was still hidden behind the confines of his muffler. It was only when he stopped in front of his own seat did she see his companion, a beautifully coifed doll of a woman easily only half the size of her husband. She slipped past to take the seat on Kate's immediate left, her lips quirking up gracefully in thanks and Kate returned it, an offering now they had been designated to share the next few hours together. Chanel began to waft into the air, already a vast improvement over her summer experience.

Watching the way she assisted him in removing his layers passed the time until the lights overhead dimmed further and Kate retrained her full attention on the stage. Already she felt herself shifting forward in her seat, waiting to be sucked in. Wanting to be absorbed.

She wasn't the premiere role and she did flutter her hands in agitation, but regardless of the role, Martha Rodgers hadn't changed. Kate had read an interview once and after reading the quotes offered had figured the actress to be a very jovial character in her own life. The article captured something boisterous and seductively charming, not to mention uncommonly giving in her answers. Kate remembered feeling that she would have loved to take the woman out for coffee, just to let her talk.

Cast here as a meek widow, Kate was sure she had never seen such a downtrodden character with a well of pep and fire. Those new to the Rodger's style might have thought it was a sign of the revival of her character; that the well would be called upon and there would be triumph, but Kate knew well enough that this was just the light Martha Rodgers lent all her parts. She didn't let her characters go down without a fight though often the roles she played went down in the end.

A fighter, not a prophet. That's what the article had labelled her. She didn't promise happy endings and magical solutions, she just made sure that when she was on stage her characters _lived_.

Kate spent over half an hour watching her fend off the advances of her friend's disgraced husband, believed dead in the war but instead living with his mistress in the City, trying to convince him to go home. More than a little mad with grief over the loss of her own husband in the War, she delivers an ultimatum and is cut down; the killer unaware she had consulted with her son, a P.I in the City.

Though her demise was expected, it hurt. Grateful for the opportunity to regain some control over the options the murder had provoked, Kate watched the curtains fall with mixed feelings, knowing what would open the next act. A phone call? Maybe a personal visit? Maybe this wasn't the escapism she had thought it would be.

Kate could list all the stages of grieving. She could list the ways people coped or failed to accept the violent passing of a loved one. Anger, shock, denial. In her year as a uniform with the NYPD 12th Precinct Homicide Division she had seen more people broken by loss than most and she didn't think it would ever get easier. Grief was not something one could ever witness cavalierly. As Detective she was going to have to be the one to tell them. Even if she could bring them closure, her face would be bitter sweet at best; the one who broke their world but tried to patch it as best she could.

Martha's fictional son chose anger.

The act opened with an almost offensively loud shatter of pottery as her son tossed his coffee cup. The language as he demanded answers from the detectives working the case was grossly outdated, even for a period piece and the essence of said detectives showed heavy signs of artistic license; unsympathetic and inefficient, they barely registered except to more firmly entrench this P.I in his own personal vendetta for answers.

But where the detectives were insignificant as to be invisible, the P.I was consuming. His grief and denial sat heavily in the back of her throat, making each breath a conscious act of control. Without even seeing his face she could feel the contorting despair and anger. In curious style he didn't dedicate his attention or performance to the audience or to his fellow actors, but claimed his space and used it freely, naturally. He never faced the audience directly, but never ignored them either because they didn't seem to exist to him; caught up in his story. He looked where he wanted, he faced who he wanted to. For a moment she was relieved she never saw the full force of it all on his face.

He took to sleuthing, backtracking his mother's final months with a spectacular hit and miss, unrealistic style that would make Hammett proud. However unlike the refined hero Hammett favoured, this P.I slipped steadily down into the darkness of Noir. Fatigue started to erode him, his shoulders rounding, his movements growing heavier and in a sight that burnt the back of her throat and tongue bitterly, the stereotypical metal flask was no longer concealed in his fedora or in an office desk drawer, but tucked into the back of his waist band for easy access. He was a man drowning.

Much like someone watching a train wreck or a building fall in on itself, she couldn't force her eyes away from him, staring long past the point where her eyes began to burn from looking into the bright lights. She forgot she was a homicide uniform. She forgot how to think how poorly the murder remained unsolved, the evidence and anonymous tips impossible in reality. She forgot that the knots being tied and pulled inside her were the shadows she never left behind, ghosts of the wreck of her life and her father's. This actor was dancing along her nerves like a ballroom king, manipulating her like puppeteer.

Who was he?

..

It was in the intermission when she had wandered out to the lobby, more to work out the residual tension than to stretch her legs, when the conversation around her answers her question. Trained to listen in on conversations coupled with a natural gift for curiosity might have made her a great writer; she might have even headed that way after finishing lit at college. She wanted the stories, who what when where why. As it was, she couldn't stop the flow of words around her, registering with distinct clarity.

Fundraisers. Business deals. Book clubs and dinners. The play so far and the debut.

The first time Martha Rodgers co-stared with her son.

Kate blinked when she overheard it, her eyes drawn to the promotional posters breaking the interior walls with tasteful regularity. She only sees 'Rodgers' written once and in smaller print at that. She didn't know Martha had a son.

The group just behind her shoulder however were invaluable gossips.

Richard Castle. Recently returning to Broadway and theatre after years in L.A.

He did some theatre work out there, even landed some roles in independent films. The voice was male, sounded self-important and middle aged.

Kate absently thought that would account for the way…Castle?... used the stage, a combination of film and theatre acting.

He was an excellent actor. Female. Older. Restrained gushing.

Kate had to agree.

Apparently so did one of the gentlemen in the circle, even informing his associates of a rumour that Castle had been teaching part time at a very reputable acting school.

None of them could tell her why he came back to New York.

..


	2. Chapter 2

**Standard disclaimer,**

**Non eof the victims named were actusl people in the plays mentioned.**

**Enjoy. **

2009

Her hand was cramped and her back had frozen in a stoop before her hand even tired. It was with a sigh of relief Kate replaced the whiteboard marker on the cheap aluminium runner shelf and stepped back into the dubious comfort of her chair. The vinyl creaked and the cold of it seeped through her thin pants unpleasantly. The cold on her back was good though, like ice on knuckles after half an hour with a boxing bag. She arched her back as subtly as possible, resigned to the grumbling ache, watching Detectives Ryan and Esposito finish up their lists on the other whiteboard. She repressed a smile at the way the jostled each other for the remaining space. Esposito won, using his fully developed shoulders to push Ryan aside when the resident Irishman finished his line first.

Ryan scowled good naturedly at his Latino partner, shoving back, ineffective but to shift Esposito's writing arm and smear his marker through the play name he was writing in the usurped space.

"Dude!" Esposito groaned.

Ryan just grinned and handed his partner the dry eraser unrepentantly. Esposito snatched and set about erasing the botched information and rewriting it, all the while looking at his partner out of the corner of his eye like a grade-schooler who suspected the person throwing pieces of eraser at his head in class, daring them to try it again but unable to hide a little excitement at the prospect they might and therefore be caught.

Kate shook her head and migrated to the break room for a coffee while the boys had their fun filling in the boards. With the hours of cross checking they were going to engage in, she figured they deserved this short time to decompress a little.

She took her mug off the rack and looked with little enthusiasm at the pot of coffee. Whoever used it last must have been called away, because it was left on the bench beyond the help of its heating dock. It was a love hate relationship; she loved coffee but hated the coffee here at work.

A finger to the glass let her know that the pot hadn't been abandoned too long ago, and was still warm enough to be drinkable. Barely. She tried not to look at it when she drank it, as if she could later convince herself she didn't stoop to this sludge for her cravings. Instead she watched her team mates haze each other through the old plastic blinds, and wondered again at their camaraderie.

Compatibility was crucial between partners, but it was nice to see the energy they gave what could have easily become a serious, work only relationship. These two had a serious bromance ever since Esposito had been transferred into their team and they had been out for drinks. She reminded herself that men formed friendships over the mundane very quickly. She had heard whispered references to that night sometimes teasing, furious, embarrassed. Ah, good times. Good enough they both still looked green when they both showed back up on grid two days later. Kate figured it must have been one hell of an inauguration. She almost regretted not being there just for the potential blackmail material.

They had offered after that tough first close to head down to the local cop bar – not Kate's favourite as a woman on the force, but a little team bonding would have been good. Unfortunately she had bought a ticket for a show weeks in advance and had to excuse herself. The boys were hardly put out that she already had plans, and the show had been worth it. Kate never booked tickets in advance, not since she had become a detective and had lost regular hours. There were just too many times she had made plans and had to cancel. In a rare exception she had bought the ticket the day after she found the advertisement for this play, not even bothered that she spent the day of pushing herself twice as hard to finish the case in time, a tangle of nervousness and excitement wreaking havoc with her insides.

She wasn't going to miss Richard Castle. He only ever got better.

And almost as if a reward for surviving her gastronomic adventure, they got their confession by lunch and had finished the paperwork by half five.

Now one of the leads was on a slab in the morgue and their headshots, before and after, added macabre splashes of colour to her murder board.

Kristine O'Connor in the spotlight yet again.

The bullpen was changing guards, the day shift uniforms handing over their duties to the night shift. Desk lamps were flickering off faster than they were being turned on but the boys were still pumped. Kate swallowed down the rest of her coffee with a grimace and returned to her seat, swapping her empty mug for the manila case file.

"I hate it when famous people end up dead." Esposito grumbled, collapsing back into his office chair. In the same movement he tossed his capped whiteboard marker up into a spin over his head only to catch it during its decent with unconscious dexterity.

"It's natural selection," Ryan snatched the marker and replaced it in front of the board.

"What?"

Ryan shrugged, "You know, nature chooses against them because …" he began to peeter off as the explanation refused to muddle itself into words. "They're inadequate." It came out more as a question.

To his credit Esposito didn't mock the failed science lesson though his eye brows were still floating a good half inch above normal. "What happened to survival of the fittest?"

"Keeping society balanced?" Ryan offered. "Too many predators up at the top of the chain?"

"Still a pain in the ass," Esposito scoffed. "Famous person turns up shot it means sneaky bastards and more suspects than you can spit at. Give me a Jack-shot-Jill-over-Bill any day."

Kate shook her head at his petulance. Sometimes she really felt like she worked with children. "What's the matter Esposito, you afraid of a little action?"

"That's what I'm saying!" Esposito exclaimed, sitting forward in his chair intently. "I want some action instead of this mind-games crap."

"Dude," Ryan groaned. Esposito looked at his partner, analysing his own answer and had the decency to colour a little, avoiding Kate's knowing gaze. Too easy.

"Mature, Bro. This whole case is messed up." Esposito shifted his embarrassed glare from Ryan to the murder board. "A Broadway actor and a producer shot dead in two high end apartments. Two doormen and nothing on the canvas but the guy leaves DNA behind?" The colour left in his face morphed from embarrassment to frustration.

She decided to take pity on him and moved from her spot in her chair to stand just off to the side of the murder board. "Try and think of it as a glass half full situation, Esposito. We know the locks weren't tampered with and the trace DNA is from hair, meaning our killer wasn't masked and our victims knew him and let them in. That already limits our pool down. We're looking for someone with connections to all our Vics."

"What about Kysler?" Ryan asked, his lip twitching briefly in distaste. Ryan had run the interrogation of the infamous low-level career criminal and knew better than all of them the man was slimy. By the end of the session, all three detectives were hoping it was him so they could take him off the streets for good. But apparently Kysler had a four leaf clover jammed in his stained Y-front panties somewhere.

"Labs came back. The DNA doesn't match. Lanie said she couldn't find a match in the database," she sighed, rubbing at her temples. Glass half full, glass half full, she repeated to herself.

Esposito flared up again indignantly. "How can that be? Our first Vic had a restraining order against him!"

Kate didn't bother answering. Why anyone did anything was beyond her.

"Kysler's not that smart," Ryan admitted sourly, his face still creased with disappointment. "So where does that leave us?"

"Back at square one, for now. Dr Parish won't get to O'Connor's autopsy until tomorrow and the Lab is still backlogged; we won't get anything back on the O'Connor scene for a few days."

"So what's our next move?" Esposito sighed.

"Run phone and financials; look for any commonalities with our other Vic. There has to be a connection somewhere."

"They were shot with the same gun," Ryan pointed out.

"That's not it," she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and looked at the crowded whiteboard. "We're missing something. The key has to be in the play somewhere."

"What play?" both her team mates frowned.

"'This should have been my time; it's over. It never began'," Kate murmured, half to herself, squinting at a photo clenched in a magnetic clip. "The cards we found on our latest Vic, O'Connor? There was a quote on there from _Aida_. It didn't seem relevant at the scene, but we found a card on our first victim as well. I thought it was just a business card, but it was so compromised from soaking in the blood I couldn't read it. Now I'm not so sure. It had to have been some sort of message."

She pulled both photos free and lined them up, like she was trying to fit a jigsaw together. If she took distortion and warping from the blood into consideration, the cards both looked to be the same size. Same grade of paper. The words were only visible on one of them.

"'This should have been my time; it's over. It never began'," Kate murmured to herself again.

"You know what that means?" Esposito asked.

"Amneris."

"What?"

"The quote," Kate explained. "It's spoken by a character called Amneris."

"'This should have been my time?' It sounds pretty pointed to me," Ryan guessed. "Does it mean anything to you?"

"I don't know," Kate shrugged and clipped the photos back up. "I remember going to see the show but O'Connor didn't even play Amneris; she was the lead, Aida. But the show has run for ten years, there are so many people who have played the roles it doesn't mean much."

"Who played, uh, what was it?" Esposito looked to his partner for help.

"Amneris?" Ryan didn't sound all that confident.

"Right. Who played Amneris when O'Connor played Aida?"

Kate could feel the sour taste build on her tongue, but hadn't she just been asking herself the same question? "Rodgers. Martha Rodgers."

Almost a full decade ago now and Kate still couldn't rationalize why she went to the theatre that night. It was cold. She remembered thinking she should have used more common sense and bundled up, it was the sensible thing. Only children had to be reminded to take a scarf and gloves when heading out into minus temps. But then she didn't have anyone to chide her about that sort of thing anymore, did she?

She had her fingers scrunched in her leather pockets, trying to concentrate energy into heat out of the wind but had already hit the wall. In her mind she was mapping out the closest coffee house; somewhere in and out of it all where she could delay heading home. It had been a year now, but she still couldn't allow her mind to accept the concept; no matter how many times Kate walked through the door, her mother was not going to be there.

"Happy New Year," Kate had muttered to herself, scowling in an effort not to cry.

MARTHA RODGERS.

Logically she still didn't understand how seeing the name lit up got her in a seat that night. Logically, it would be the last place she should want to go. Theatre was the world she and her mother shared. Had shared. And Martha Rodgers had been one of their favourite actresses.

But a year was a long time and denial wasn't working anymore. And then she had a ticket.

_Aida_.

"Okay," Kate viciously reined that train of thought in. "I'll run her against our Vics and get hold of tech; see if they can push that other card through. There might be another quote that will make all of this make sense. You guys keep up phones and financials. She played the role in 2000. I know it's a long way to go back, but let's see if anything pops."

…

By seven she figured the boy's desks had been quiet for long enough. She turned her desktop onto screen saver and made her way over to her team, pleased to see they were still methodically working down the columns, twirling their highlighter markers between their fingers. Unfortunately, she didn't see any florescent ink as she made her advance. "Anything?"

"Just that she wasn't really into using her cell phone back at the turn of the century," Ryan answered. "She must have gotten over it though; her records from the last few months are going to take a while."

"Did you look at the days before her death?"

"Lots of incoming calls but none from unknown or blocked numbers," Esposito answered smoothly.

"What about on the house phone?" Kate asked.

"Same," Esposito shrugged sagely. "There's not much there actually, she seemed to prefer her cell. I tell you, house phones are practically history."

"Financials?" she looked to Ryan.

"She wasn't hurting, I can tell you that. She was making regular donations to six charities, had a house in the Hamptons. Her apartment is worth about 4 million."

"But nothing else?"

"No suspicious transactions, it all looks completely legit. You catch anything?"

"Martha Rodgers has worked with our other vic too, more than once, but I was expecting that. She's been the game a long time; she's probably worked with hundreds of actors and producers. It's hardly smoking gun."

They shrugged.

"Okay, let's call it," she caught the pen from where Esposito was flirting it across his knuckles and tossing it in the air lightly. "I'll stop by the Rodgers' place and get her in for questioning on my way home and let you know how it goes."

"Do you want us to send a cruiser over for her?"

"It's fine, I need to stretch my legs. Ryan, can you run the address?"

…


	3. Chapter 3

**Standard disclaimer.**

Here's just a very basic case summary I'll post and update with new info so it's easier to follow:

Victim 1: Tony Monroe. Producer.

Victim 2: Kristine O'Connor. Actress.

Meeting Castle.

I…did not…see this coming.

The smile was dashing, or at least that was the way she had read it described in the articles over the last five years. In actuality it was distinctly crooked and closed mouth but frustratingly charming in that not-handsome-but-unique way. She had seen that smile before in the biography pages and in countless photos over the last five years, complete with signature floppy hair.

Had he broken his nose before? The lighting at the photo shoots must cover…

"Can I help you?" Blue eyes were curious.

Right.

Kate should have considered that Martha's son would be visiting when she came. Should have considered it, but it hadn't even fleetingly crossed her mind. From his open throated shirt and bare feet though she suddenly got the impression it wasn't Martha Rodger's door she had knocked on. It was Richard Castle's, wasn't it. The way the actor barricaded entry to the apartment was distinctly proprietary.

"NYPD," Kate parted her thick red coat to display the shield on her hip. "Is this the residence of Martha Rodgers?"

She didn't miss the frigid set that took over his initial candour, his jaw stiffening. "It is."

When he didn't move to extrapolate she continued. "Is she home?"

"Yes," he looked at her steadily and she found it a little unnerving. His face seemed to constantly shift a little in her mind, taking on the emotional markers of the many roles she had seen him in. He had crow's feet from laughter, stubble from the mobster enforcer, a squint of a drunk, the arrogance, the cruelty, the haughtiness. His face held so many memories and yet looked capable of even more potential.

Right now, there was wariness. "Was there anything else?" he finally asked her after their staring had begun to move towards competitive levels.

"Who is it, Dad?" From the corner of her vision a red head, several decades younger than the one she had come to see, homed in on Richard Castle and with becoming candour, wormed her way into the circle of his…her father's… arm.

He had a daughter?

"I didn't catch a name," he looked down at her but she had already trained her eyes on the woman at their door. Kate couldn't help but wonder at this new set of perfect blue eyes. They were so different from her father's Kate would be hard pressed to call them the same colour. Richard Castle seemed to own royal blue eyes, fitting for his name. Detective Ryan had staked a claim over cornflower. This young woman seemed to have added a little ice to hers, an arctic water effect though they were far from cold; they sparkled with curiosity and affection for her father.

She looked like a good kid. She certainly had inherited Martha Rodgers' stunning hair.

"Detective Beckett, NYPD. I would like to speak with Ms Rodgers."

"She's upstairs," the girl replied easily. "Should I go and call her down?" she cast her eyes cautiously up at her father. She took that to mean Richard Castle wasn't always this frigid.

"Thanks, Pumpkin," he squeezed her briefly against his side before releasing her. The moment she divorced herself from her father's side, Kate was granted a brief glimpse into the apartment. She registered a wide open plan and wooden floors before broad shoulders once again filled the door way.

"Can I ask what this is about?"

"We just have a few questions for her down at our precinct," Kate hedged.

His eyes narrowed and she cursed consenting to answer him. She should have just stuck to no disclosure and then she wouldn't have to internally groan at how unconvincing she had sounded. She really couldn't act.

Apparently Richard Castle sniffed out her less than stellar performance as well. "About what?"

God, you are acting like a star-struck rookie. "I'm afraid I can't disclose any information." The rote phrase settled her nerves and she felt control return to her. On the heels of her statement though, a voice came from deeper in the apartment that conspired to send her grappling after it again.

"Are we entertaining?" The genial tone was a little rusty and throaty with age, but then again, the outlandishly dressed woman it belonged to was into her sixties now. Richard turned in response and Kate was once again privy to the interior, this time focusing on the open stairs hugging the wall and the older woman descending them. That was a woman she would recognise anywhere – had in fact; always able to pick her out of a company regardless of hair, makeup and costume.

"Detective Katherine Beckett," Kate offered when the red heels had brought the actress safely down the stairs and into the entrance way. She badly wanted to stretch out her hand and shake hands with the actress, but swallowed the urge. "I was hoping you might accompany me down to my precinct and answer some questions about Kristine O'Connor's case."

"Of course," Ms Rodgers looked marginally bewildered at the request but willing enough. It made Kate glad she had not called in a pair of uniforms to bring her in. She opened her mouth to thank her but was denied the chance.

"That won't be necessary," Richard Castle disagreed smoothly.

Martha stared at her son and he stared at Kate.

What the hell? She saw the arrogance there and concern but it was the assured way he undercut her authority that had her hackles rising. She had worked hard to get where she was and yet people still thought they could jerk her around. It grated on her when she got it from perps but she just rode them harder and broke them. It was frustrating and required wasting time when it came from Joe Public and it both had her quietly seeing red and hurt when it came from fellow law enforcement officers.

She had no idea why a sudden anger was taking over her insides when it came from this actor. She met his stare, no longer remotely uncomfortable. She didn't glare, she just looked at him evenly and wondered if he was embarrassed at all about questioning the respectability of someone he had just met.

Apparently he didn't care at all. He didn't even deign to look aggressive about it. He acted like it was a foregone conclusion. He obviously was far too comfortable with getting his own way. But she had cracked much harder nuts than his.

"I'm going head upstairs and work on my Bio," his daughter quietly interrupted from where she had stealthily slipped in on her grandmother's heels. Her eyes flickered uneasily between the adults in the room, obviously intimidated by the Mexican standoff taking over the doorway.

"Night sweetheart," he dropped a kiss on her forehead, still collected.

"Night Grams."

The matriarch pulled her in for a warm hug, rocking them both and eliciting a quiet giggle from the girl before releasing her. "Night kiddo."

All three watched as she lightly took the stares and saw the flush light up her face when she paused at the top and saw all eyes were still on her. She disappeared from view but Kate waited until she heard a door close deeper in the apartment before she continued.

"Mr Castle, I appreciate your concern."

"I'm sure you do," he said flatly, obviously thinking the exact opposite. And he was right; his concern was touching but a huge pain in her butt. If he didn't get over himself she was tempted to run mention of interference charges past him and see how he liked that. Was she really going to bluff Richard Castle? She was talking to _Richard Castle._

"Richard," Ms Rodgers waved her hands, dismissing his objection. "She just has a few questions for me."

"I know why she's here," Castle informed her.

"Then you understand why it is important that she comes in for questioning," Kate spoke to him directly.

"At half past eight?" he challenged. "There is no protocol which dictates all questioning must take place in a police headquarters. Without suspicion, Mother isn't even obligated to talk to you."

Jerk. Arrogant, self-righteous, know it all rat bas…

"Really, Richard," Martha sighed. "Let the girl in instead of head-butting out there in the hall. It's late."

...

**Hope you liked it. Catch you again pretty soon, couple of days maybe.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Standard disclaimer.**

**Thanks for all the reviews and here's a little more Castle for you...don't worry, he's not always going to be a pain in the ass. **

Kate had been in three luxury lofts in the last month alone. Her heels rang on the polished wooden flooring and she followed Castle to his square modern sofa, trying to pinpoint why this one felt different.

It was designed and decorated after the same postmodern lines, but it was softer, almost fuzzy at the edges. Perhaps it was the colour scheme: all warm tones rather than sleek black and white. The loft was filled with soft lighting, muted points of light nestled around the space creating a relaxed ambience with soft shadows. She watched Castle's back and the new shadows that hung under his shoulder blades, swaying a little as he moved. There must be more definition under that shirt than she thought.

The sound of footfalls broke rhythm, no longer assured but confused and she looked behind her in time to see Martha Rodgers right on her six, her heels discordantly out of time with her own.

"Can I take your coat?" the older woman offered. "Let it not be said my son was not taught his manners."

"I'm fine," Kate demurred.

The other apartments were gorgeous. There had been top of the line kitchens, all gleaming. An abundance of art claimed the walls and prize spots around the rooms and plush carpets that had swallowed her heels whole flooded whole square meters. They were luxuriant, yes. Sophisticated. But the framed photos of grandchildren there didn't make it the home this loft was to its inhabitants. The warm walls, dishes drying in the rack in the kitchen and three different sets of shoes just inside the door made this a home. As did the larger than life, genuine woman at Kate's back.

"I insist," the actress waved her hands again, resting them on Kate's shoulders and arresting any attempts she could make to escape. With an internal sigh, Kate surrendered, slanting her shoulders and stepping fluidly from her coat and entrusting it to her host. Hardly content, Ms Rodgers began to hang it in the hall closet. Her next sentence was somewhat lost in the back of said closet but Kate understood the gist of it.

"I'm fine," Kate turned down the generous offer of refreshment, caught in limbo between her hosts standing in the middle of the sitting room very conscious of her newly exposed holster and weapon.

"Oh but you must," the actress insisted, re-emerging from the depth of the closet. "What kind of host would I be if I," she paused abruptly also registering her house guest was armed. "Oh."

What did you say to that?

"Ms Rodgers," she started.

"Martha," the actress insisted, joining her son on the sofa, refreshments temporarily forgotten, her eyes still running over the straps of Kate's holster.

"Martha," Kate acknowledged. "You worked with Ms O'Connor on a number of projects."

"Yes, I did," she blinked. The brief reprieve of visual settled her and she relaxed into the couch, her earlier aplomb returning to her. "Richard has done work with her as well, of course. I regret never being able to work with both of them at the same time. The laughs we would have had."

"You were close?" Kate inferred.

"As close as possible in the world of professional theatre," Martha smiled wryly.

"Not all relationships behind the scenes are genial?"

"They're the birth place of the soap opera," Martha chuckled throatily. "Let me tell you, _Show Girls_ barely scratched the surface. People get so good at playing roles," she paused, abruptly, cutting herself off as if surprised where her words had led her mind. Kate wondered what the actress was remembering. "They are so versatile and convincing, it's difficult to know what kind of person you're dealing with sometimes." She fell silent and offered up a small smile. "Kristine was the best."

Castle caught her hand and she squeezed back gratefully. Kate tried not to let herself get biased; Martha was still their best lead.

"And so you kept in contact?"

"Not religiously, though I recently got myself a myface account," she looked at her son for confirmation and his lips had quirked up at her mistake. It must be a thing between them. "No, we ran into each other quite often at the various benefits and saw some shows together when she had free time. She's, she was, a very busy woman. Very popular. We haven't seen her since the Mayor's New Year Ball."

Okay. Wow.

"In 2000 you worked together for a season of _Aida_."

"Oh yes," the smile was back. "The costumes, the dancing. She had the most wonderful voice," Martha added almost as an aside. "She wanted to be a singer you know - tossed it in for Broadway but never could let it go. Oh, she loved the musicals. It was her voice that got her the part of Aida."

"And you played Amneris," Kate prompted her.

"You did your homework, I see." Martha obviously approved. "Yes, I played the Pharaoh. Such a tragic story; I've always been a stickler for the happy endings. I even tried to convince the writers my character should let Aida escape. But Aida was too ballsy to run. What a woman."

"You never wanted to play Aida?" Kate asked.

"What is the point of this?" Castle interrupted. The indirect questioning had relaxed him somewhat, but he had sharp instincts and caught her scent. It didn't matter too much anyway, she worked better directly.

"This should have been my time; it's over. It never began," Kate recited, her eyes focused on Martha's.

Martha frowned in puzzlement. "That's from the song,"

"I Know the Truth," Kate finished easily.

Both residents looked at each other as if they would find the significance of the quote in a silent conversation.

"It was one of mother's most famous lines in _Aida_," Castle offered. "But I don't see what that has to do with anything." She had never seen him up close. On the stage he was far enough away that his features were a blur and in the majority of photos she had seen, he was in costume and make up. Never had she seen his face this neutral. It was a little unnerving when she had always associated him with such beautiful emotional portrayals. He was obviously keeping himself very carefully in check, bracing himself. It wasn't an unusual reaction in people she questioned, and she felt relieved to be back on familiar territory now that his concerned hostility had faded.

Kate reached into the bag she hadn't relinquished to her hostess and drew out her folder. From it she slid the A4 sized photo of the business card found on Kristine O'Connor's body. She passed it to Martha and watched silently as Castle slid closer to his mother on the couch and read over her shoulder.

The card with the quote which had led Kate to them. Kate just hadn't figured out why.

His face was jostled when the shoulder under him jerked. "Oh my God. You think I…" Martha rocked away from the photo. The line of her was no longer casual and confiding, but pulled between outrage and grief. Kate didn't care that the woman was a professional actress, that was not the reaction of a killer.

"Ms Rodgers," Kate prompted. "I just need to know what this means to you."

She squeezed at her son's hand, the anger fading and internalising, leaving her looking tired. "I never wanted the part of Aida," she said almost to herself after she dropped her eyes to the photo again.

"You auditioned for it," Kate pointed out.

The actress pulled herself back forcibly, bottling it all away with no little effort. "Of course I did," she sighed. "I audition constantly. If you want jobs, you have to; but I was glad to get Amneris. I watched in on Kristine's audition and she deserved it. It was her part. And we all knew I was too old for it. Kristine was eight years my junior and even she was too old."

"But why were you happy with Amneris?"

"Detective," Castle protested lowly.

But his mother waved him off. "Stick to what you know. I know more about failed relationships than most ever want to know, I felt that made me highly qualified for the role. I gave up on star-crossed lovers a long time ago." She smiled but it was an imitation of the one she charmed reporters and audiences with.

Kate nodded. "Thank you. You'll have to forgive me for asking this, Ms Rodgers, but where were you on Tuesday between 8.00 and 10.30P.M?"

"Here." The reply was instantaneous.

"Do you have anyone who could confirm that for me?"

Castle took the photo from Martha's trembling hands. "I understand that you are just doing your job, but you need to stop there. Mother was here, she ordered dinner in."

"From where?" Kate pressed.

"Pizza from Celestes," Martha said, her voice still rough. "I paid with a credit card."

"We had a movie night," Castle informed her. "You can check my credit card; you can talk to our doorman, Eduardo. You can even talk to Alexis, but I assure you Mother is innocent."

Alexis. That must be his daughter.

"Can you remember anything about that show? Any conflicts or bad feelings with other actors? The directors? Maybe someone else who was sore when they didn't get the part?"

"No," she looked lost again. "Nothing."

So much for _Show Girls_.

"Alright Martha, I'll do some checking, but I would still like you to some down to the 12th precinct and answer some more questions about the show. Anything you can tell me might be important. Just think on it and come by tomorrow."

"Anything," she nodded. "Anything we can do."

Kate stood and Richard Castle silently retrieved her coat. He showed her to the door, even waiting for her to step into her coat before opening it. He stooped to collect her bag from where she left it on the floor while she shrugged the heavy material on and handed it over thoughtfully. His eyes had gentled back to the same blue she had seen when the apartment door first opened and she made herself take her bag from him.

The brush of his warm skin against hers raised the hairs on her forearms but she repressed the feeling before it could shake down her spine. Change in temperature, that's all. She always shivered whenever she entered a warm room for the first time.

"Mr. Castle," she nodded. Then she walked away.


	5. Chapter 5

**Standard disclaimer,**

**A big thanks to castlexphile for the heads up.**

The highlighters were out in force again today. The coffee was lukewarm at best but free flowing and all three detectives were ready to break this case. They had been working it for two weeks, combing over the lives of their first victim and sinking slowly until a second murder over a week later. He was speeding up, getting impatient. He had left that card in plain sight – a taunt. But now the connections were starting to form.

By ten o'clock, they had ruled out money as a motive. There were no suspicious transactions, no unexplained withdrawals or questionable expenses. They were clean.

By eleven, the boys were finishing up the phone records and she had her evidence that Martha Rodgers had been at home with her family the night of the O'Connor murder. The doorman, Eduardo, had woken up after his night shift with the four o'clock handover and had confirmed her presence.

To be sure, she ran Martha Rodgers through financials, skimmed the latest purchases and then checked she had entered the details correctly before reloading the page.

There was no record of a pizza purchase on her credit cards. In fact, there was very little at all. Her credit card history was not exorbitant; she lived within her means. There was no evidence of rent payments or a mortgage. There were only occasional payments to airlines between NYC and LA and a spa retreat every month. For the renowned actress, it was fairly restrained. It only made it more puzzling. Martha Rodgers had only barely more money than Kate.

She dug back, noting the total balance slowly increasing as she worked her way back towards the present. She was starting on 2006, hardly able to comprehend the minimal figures she was reading when Esposito paused at her shoulder, pretending to look at the murder board.

"Heads up," he muttered.

Kate slowly withdrew her eyes from the screen before her and rolled them out over the bullpen. Every innocuous movement captured her attention, demanding to be processed. And then she saw them. With the red hair, Kate was surprised she hadn't spotted the actress sooner. Kate hurriedly closed the window on her computer and made to push herself out of her chair when she saw the actress had not come alone.

"Is that?" Ryan started, his mouth falling open a little.

Great.

"Yeah," she tried her best not to let it out as a groan. Of course he would come too. He walked half a step behind his mother, his face averted as he scanned the area. He was in a pressed jacket today, though still dressed down in jeans and boots. Very expensive jeans and boots. He hadn't managed to shave.

She didn't like the way it drew her eyes and held them to his throat and down to the broad line of his shoulders.

"What's he doing here?" Ryan sounded a little awed.

"Perfecting his knight in shining armour," Kate muttered, still resentful. More than being resentful, she was irked that she still was sore about it the next day. He had been a rich jerk once. He had smiled at her when she left, so why hadn't she gotten over it yet?

"Rick Castle!" the greeting boomed out easily over the low frequency of dial tones, clacking keys and grouped conversation. "What are you doing in my precinct?"

The whole floor froze for a second to watch their Captain dissenter himself out of one of the groups and stride towards the two visitors. They clasped each other in a handshake and drew closer to slap a hand on each other's back.

"Roy!" the actor was beaming. "You're looking good."

"Evelyn's got my arm behind my back again," Captain Montgomery winced theatrically. "What brings you down here?"

There was nothing but the sound of straining ears around the room as the collection of inherently curious people indulged themselves.

"Oh, business," Castle informed him. "Detective Beckett had a few questions for Mother."

"He knows the Captain?" Esposito hissed out the side of his mouth to her.

News to her.

"Well then I should let you go," Montgomery stepped back a step and looked over to the three detectives still frozen around Beckett's desk. "You're in good hands with Beckett."

"I'm sure," Castle's smirk was pointed.

"I think he likes you," Esposito smirked as well, obviously treasuring this.

"Shut up," she shot back under her breath. Considering their less than cordial relations the night before, she found that unlikely.

"Beckett!" Montgomery hailed her before turning back to his…friend? Oh this just got so much worse. "We need to catch up," he continued to address the actor as she made her way over to them, the bullpen all watching silently. "My place next week?"

"You're on," Castle grinned.

"Martha, you're more than welcome as well."

"I'll have to think on it," Martha contributed for the first time. "I seem to recall the last time your deck had a grievance against me; I didn't win a single hand."

"That's because you have no poker face, Mother."

"Oh," she huffed and tried to look offended, appealing to the Captain but he just shrugged cheekily. Obviously Castle's influence, Kate thought blackly.

"Sir," Kate announced herself.

"Beckett," he smiled. "You have some visitors."

She caught Castle staring at her behind her Captain's back and sighed internally at the obvious appreciation in his gaze. In good hands, huh? I bet he would love that.

"Thank you, Sir."

"Keep me apprised. And Martha, I won't take no for an answer."

"Practice makes perfect," Castle told his Mother, earning a playful poke to his ribs.

"It also loses a lot of money," she shot back, eyes dark with amusement. She left the two men chuckling and turned to Beckett. "Now where would you like us?"

"Right through there," Kate slipped past them and led them towards the empty break room. She motioned them to make themselves comfortable and set about the room, closing the all three of the doors. Martha perched herself on the edge of the vinyl upholstered sofa and Kate turned to find Castle with his hip resting on the side of it, long legs crossed over each other and his hands in his pockets, a 180 from his posture the night before.

Looks like he had decided she wasn't about to arrest his mother after all.

"Thank you for coming in, Ms Rodgers."

"Martha."

"Martha," Kate allowed a small smile and pulled one of metal chairs from the table so she was facing them both. "Did you remember anything?"

"Nothing, well nothing useful to your investigation, I'm sure."

"Are you sure there wasn't anything? It might not seem that important to you, but I would like to hear it. Any incidents with overly dedicated fans, a rivalry or any resentment at all?"

Even as Kate tried to prompt her, Martha was shaking her head. "The show ran for so long we all grew quite close. We often went out after a show together. I can't think of any bad blood amongst the cast. "

What about the understudies? The crew? Were there any incidents at all? You said theatre was the birth place of soap dramas, was there perhaps else. "

"_Aida_ was destined to be a big show, right from the start," Martha explained. "The cast and crew were all experienced and work started a long way out, especially for the musical numbers so everyone was relatively relaxed. Oh there were the usual misplaced costumes, a couple of musical and lighting mistakes," Martha granted. "But nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing worth killing for then, let alone now."

"Can you think of anyone who might have auditioned for the role of Aida and had any hard feelings?"

"Not enough to last almost ten years. As a leading role, the pool was quite small and we all have learned to share the roles. If we hold grudges, it just makes life uncomfortable when you end up working together."

"Did Kristine have any problems in her life? Any problems after the show came out?"

"I know she was getting a lot of recognition from the role and missed her privacy for a few months until the hype died down. She had people following her for autographs."

Kate drew a photo of Kysler out of her folder. "Does this look familiar to you? Perhaps someone who was following Ms O'Connor?" Maybe he had stalked Victim 2 as well as 1 but gotten away without an official complaint.

Martha just shook her head. "I don't recognise him, but you might want to track down the makeup artists that Kristine worked with. They know everything."

"And you, Mr Castle?" she looked at him for the first time. "Can you think of anything your Mother might have missed, Mr Castle?"

"I've never seen him, but then I was in L.A," he frowned. "She came around for dinner once when she was up there for a short job during a hiatus and she said she had started seeing someone. I remember asking if he wouldn't be jealous that she was having dinner with me and she laughed it off, but she didn't look happy like she had found someone new and she never told me anything about him."

"No name or where they met?"

"No."

"If she had a new man, we never knew about it," Martha looked almost slighted that she had missed out on gossip.

Kate made a note to get the boys to track down this mystery man. "Okay. Do you remember which makeup artists worked with Kristine?"

"I know their faces," Martha cast her eyes upwards in comical frustration at herself. "I couldn't tell you their names, but their company would surely have records."

Her phone vibrated against her hip and she straightened, removing the device and noting the caller ID. It was Lanie, probably with the results of the autopsy. Damn, she was fast. "Excuse me, I have to take this."

She ignored Castle's eyes and retreated to the corner of the break room when Martha gave wordless assent. She didn't know what was with him today, or if it was the other way around and she didn't know what was with him last night.

"Beckett," she answered.

"Before you ask," the ME answered, not bothering to announce herself. "It's not about the autopsy."

"Okay."

"I might have pulled some strings with a friend in the CSU Evidence Processing Lab and fast tracked your card. He says the blood had lifted a lot of the ink, but he did get a few words. He said he can do a full recreation but it'll take time."

"No, that would be great. What did he get?"

"Sounded like gibberish to me," Lanie huffed. "You're going to want to write this down."

Kate tucked her phone into the cradle of her shoulder and opened her folder. "Go."

"Alright, 'scars', 'nevers' 'and maybes' and a word starting with 'd'."

"Were they all separate words?" Kate frowned, writing the words before they escaped her.

"He said it was part of a sentence where the card was in better shape. 'Scars, nevers and maybes d'." Lanie huffed a little after her recitation, obviously bugged it made no sense, but hearing them together, there was a familiarity about them. Kate reread the hasty notation and felt the click, a quick kick of adrenaline teasing her heart rate to quicken. She might know what this meant.

"Okay thanks, Lanie."

"Don't thank me just yet," Lanie suggested. "Doesn't sound like anything to me."

"No, thank you."

"You got it, girl. Now go so I can get started on the O'Connor autopsy."

"Going," she ended the call and turned back to the room only to find herself with her nose practically buried in the lapels of Castle's shirt. He was radiating warmth. Surely it wasn't normal to throw off that much heat.

"Mr. Castle," she stepped straight back. She could still smell him. Sharp, fresh and expensive.

"'Where all the scars of the nevers and maybes die'," he said lowly obviously reading over her shoulder. "That's what they mean."

Quite a jump without proof, she thought. And exactly what she was thinking.

"It's from a production called," he started.

"_Ren_t," she finished.

He stepped back, studying her with pursed lips.

"That was Kristine's line," Martha stood from the sofa.

"Ms. Rodgers," Kate began, a queasy idea forming in her mind. She knew and found Martha because the card on her second Vic pointed to her. She now knew the card on the first Vic pointed to the second. Like a warning. Meaning Martha was next?

"Martha, please."

"Martha, have you noticed anything out of the ordinary lately?"

"Like what?"

"Anything. Anything at all. Maybe someone following you lately?" she reviewed that and tried to soften it; she didn't want to make the woman paranoid. "A member of the paparazzi?" Or a guy with a gun…

"No," she answered surely enough but looked at her son for confirmation. "Richard, have you noticed anything?"

"I haven't seen anyone following us and Eduardo usually tells us if anyone is loitering outside the building."

Kate sighed and hung her head a minute longer thinking. "Have you had any threats or strange calls?"

"Our home number is unlisted," Castle answered.

"There was that _critic_ at the gala on Friday," Martha scowled, her tone bitter.

At Kate's intent interest, he explained. "He's always been hard on Mother, but on Friday at the Gala, he said he hoped Mother was next. He was calling these murders 'a purging of Broadway'; said she should have moved on a long time ago."

"I'm going to need a name."

"Fulton," Martha volunteered. "Grant Fulton," her face twisted in disdain. "He likes to tell people his name is Grand."

Kate didn't bother committing the name to ink, already more than aware of the infamous theatre critic. She had read some of his work and she had to wonder if he liked anyone. His critique of Martha's performances however were all unnecessarily harsh, even from Kate's point of view. She remembered sitting at the kitchen table with her mother the night after going to see one of Martha's shows, reading the review and weighing up using her mother's contacts to find out where he lives so they could go and egg his house. Logic ruled however when eventually she had suggested to her mom that he probably lived right up the top of high rise apartment building. Doorman Guaranteed.

"Thank you, you've been a great help but please, call me if you think of anything," she offered the actress her business card, unreasonably pleased to see her tuck it into her wallet straight away. "Good luck for your show tonight."

…

"Run him until we hear back from the lab. If she was in a relationship there's a trail. Ms Rodgers gave us the company who did the makeup and costumes for _Rent_, so run down O'Connor's assistants and see what they can tell you. I want to know who this guy is."

"It's a long shot," Esposito offered. "We ran her records already and nothing popped."

"It's not like we have much else right now. Besides maybe we were looking in the wrong place. We need to shift our search to focus on the time O'Connor was working _Rent_."

"What about Fulton?"

Three sets of eyes shifted focus to the interruption who stood, hands in pockets, surveying the murder board. "Mr Castle."

"Those cards aren't messages," his eyes were jumping from the pictures to the fresh ink she had added. "They're warnings and you know it. The cards show up and then the subject ends up dead."

"Mr Castle."

"You think Mother might be next." He averted his gaze from her carefully masked one to her team mates who were looking at each other uneasily. "I knew it."

"We are still waiting for forensic evidence, but I haven't ruled out the possibility," she admitted, knowing if she didn't give him at least that much he would go to Montgomery anyway.

"There's a possibility?"

"Which is why I need to get back to work and find the person responsible." She told him, recognizing the fear behind his bluster. "We want to catch him before anyone else gets hurt."

"What do I do?"

"Take her home, Mr. Castle and call me if anything comes up. Anything."

"Richard?" Martha was making her way across the room from the ladies room.

He spent a second longer looking at her before he turned. "Coming."

She watched them until the elevator door closed. "Get a detail on her," she said over shoulder.

…


	6. Chapter 6

**Standard Disclaimer. **

**Here's some Lanie for you.**

The boys were tying up their lines sniffing after the possible ex, the last lead they had until Lanie finished with the autopsy. Kate knew she should give the critic Grant Fulton a higher priority on her own work list, but her discovery from before her visitor's arrival was still calling at her. There was something in Martha Rodgers' financials that didn't make sense.

There was no credit card transaction for pizza where there should be and she decided to give that avenue priority until she could officially disclaim the alibi. Maybe Martha had ordered the pizza on another card. When she found nothing to support another card she ran Richard Castle. On his credit card statement there was in fact a record of a pizza dinner delivered to the Castle loft. Martha said she paid with a credit card, not she paid with her credit card. That along with doorman Eduardo's testimony put her in the clear and Kate's spirits felt a lot lighter. She liked Martha Rodgers, even when she knew it would bias her investigation.

She couldn't say the same thing for her son. Was she ever going to be able to remember those shows without the taint of his attitude? Was he like that all the time? She got the protectiveness, she did. But was he the man who opened the door to her or was he the man she wanted to hit? So much for him being a play boy. On a whim she pulled up all of Castle's records, and felt her eyebrows reaching for the sky.

…

It was almost five when a text pinged on her phone from Lanie.

_[Got something for you.]_

Kate dropped her cell again, knowing the files covering the surface area would prevent any damage to it. She unearthed her mouse and opened up her department email, scanning the newest emails for the promised update from the ME. Two from lawyers, one department notice, a couple from Ryan and Esposito sharing files but nothing from Lanie.

She shrugged and went back to the copies of Fulton's latest reviews of Martha's work, giving Lanie time to send it through. The write ups were bad enough Kate could see him telling the actress to her face that he wished she was dead. The profile picture at the top of every column and article though made her doubt the guy would use a gun. Too crass. Too messy.

But since when had there been a definable type of gun user?

Kate put down the review in favor of her cold coffee in trust it would take some of the acrid taste out of her mouth. She swallowed on a grimace and refreshed her email.

There it was. She clicked it open and read the single line of body twice.

...

_**From:**__ Dr. Lanie Parish_

_**Subject: **__You want it?_

_**Date**__: January 21, 2009 17.04pm_

_**To:**__ Det. Katherine Beckett._

_You come get it._

...

Okay…

"Guys, Lanie's got something for us. I'm heading uptown, but you guys go ahead and call it. Too much OT already this week."

"Sweet," Esposito leaned back in his chair and smacked Ryan over the head with the file he still had in his hand. "I think I'm gonna get a drink. Boss, you in when you're done?"

"I think Lanie wants a night," Kate declined.

"Just you and me then, huh, partner?"

"Can't," Ryan begged out. "Got a date."

"Sure you do," Esposito scoffed.

Ryan just continued packing up his desk, checking the watch on his wrist once.

"What? Seriously?" Esposito asked.

"Man, why do you have to sound so surprised?"

"Because you have no play."

"I have play," Ryan objected. "It's you who doesn't have any."

Kate pursed her lips to keep from smiling and headed for the elevator. "See you guys tomorrow."

They didn't hear her.

"Dude I have so much play I can't go in a bar without…"

…

The traffic jams up to 30th was the icing on her day. The trip was never smooth but this really sucked; the substandard heating in her cruiser, the steamy clouds of carbon monoxide fogging the view. Just a wonder there hasn't been a fender-bender ahead. Not that, please. Her bath was calling to her, _come home, I miss you_.

The feeling was very, very mutual.

So Lanie is obviously trying to punish her. What has she done to deserve this?

Kate thought on that the last few blocks, not bothering to look out for parks- the one thing she knew she'd find close to the building at 6.00. By the time she engaged the hand break less than half a block away from the hulking block of a building, she still couldn't think of anything. Maybe Lanie wanted her to get her lunch or something for sweet talking her tech buddy into fast lining the evidence cards?

She grabbed her gloves and stepped out, watching for black ice. The only consolation of falling on her ass right now, would be she was about to enter a building full of doctors. There was someone there around the clock trying to keep up with the byproducts and complications death, even natural death, left behind.

Sure their patients were usually dead, but they probably remembered how to tell if a bone was broken and there was more than enough ice on the ground if she needed a compress.

Lucky for her, she made it into the building and through reg. and security without injury. The floor is linoleum and tiles. Kate assumed this was for the same reason the morgues weren't carpet: easier clean up. And it was a publicly funded institution. Carpet is expensive and needs replacing more often. The pattern also goes out of date quickly.

But the choice made it nice and cool in summer - an ice box in winter.

When she got closer to the morgue she breathed out experimentally, more than half expecting to be able to see her breath. Lanie was waiting for her, but not in the morgue. That was all cleaned away. The small woman was at her desk, facing the door. Heels on hard floors are hardly discreet and apparently the ME wanted to witness the arrival of the detective she had summoned.

She seemed to get a kick out of it. Her face didn't budge, but her eyes were throwing out a dark chuckle.

"Detective Beckett," she greeted her.

"Lanie."

"That's Dr. Parish," she corrected.

"Not after making me come all this way," Kate shot back with a small smile.

"You deserved it," Lanie scoffed, swinging her chair back around to her desk and pulling up a file. "But I will grill you about that in a sec. Just wanted to let you know we did a little more testing on the hair left at the scene."

"I thought you couldn't get a match."

"We couldn't. They're not in the system, but we did some phenotype analysis. You're looking for a male. The grey colour is natural too so you're looking for someone older. I'm not sure how old, but if he's only going grey, he's probably mousey brown with frosting rather than your traditional salt and pepper."

"Anything else?"

"What do I look like, a crystal ball?"

Guess that's a no. "Thank you, Dr. Parrish," Kate pressed her lips together to hold back a smirk.

"Uh huh," Lanie sighed. "Well Dr. Parish is now leaving the building. Walk with me." Kate watched as Lanie leant her hands on her knees and rocked before pushing herself up. It smacked a little of desperation which was unusual for the characteristically upbeat woman. Looks like Kate wasn't the only one who just wanted this day to be over.

They were still a good thirty feet away from the locker rooms when Lanie began stripping off her loose scrub shirt. She had two thermals under it but the stretch of toned caramel stomach got her a wolf whistle from one of the side rooms. She just waved and kept walking, hitting the swing door with her shoulder and stalking through.

"Someone you choreographed that show for?" Kate asked, surprised at Lanie's strip.

"New guy transferred in from D.C, Antonio," Lanie answered, her locker already open and shucking her work shoes. "But no, he got off hours ago."

"Huh." Beckett was feeling a little lost.

Lanie casually pulled down her blue disposable pants, balling them up with her top and tossing them in the scrubs bin. She aimed the shot well, even adding an unconscious little flourish of the wrist like a seasoned basketballer but didn't stop to watch her shot. She pivoted back to her locker and pulled out a pair of jeans and sat down to pull her feet through them. All her movements today were economical, less lively than usual.

"Long day?" Beckett asked.

"Longer waiting on your skinny ass to make it up here," Lanie groaned, getting back to her feet and sliding her jeans all the way up.

"Okay, what did I do?"

"It's what you didn't do."

Kate flicked back through her earlier thoughts and still couldn't come up with a valid explanation. Lanie shrugged on her sweater and pulled out her heels.

"It's not your birthday," Kate said. "I returned the DVD you lent me, so it's not late fees at the video store."

"I thought, you being you, you would have been on the phone hours ago. But no. Did it mean so little to you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the two famous Broadway thespians you spent over an hour with. One of whom is the man who you have seen in anything he has ever done here in the city or on film. I spent hours trying to track down all those films with you. I admit he is deliciously yummy and, thanks to my loyal sources at the 12th, I know he would love nothing more to be in 'your capable hands'. Are you trying to tell me that doesn't warrant a phone call?"

"Did the Captain text you?" Kate gaped.

"What?"

"He's the only one who knows I like shows."

"Oh, honey. No he's not. Both of your boys know how bad you have it for those two actors."

"How?"

"Beats me," Lanie shrugged. "But how long until you give me the details, girl? Really."

"What details?"

"Don't push me," Lanie scowled. "After pushing your case through I had a 350 pound ass to post for Slaughter in Gangs and had him sniffing around all afternoon. My patience is mummified and walled up."

"Slaughter? I've never had the pleasure."

"You don't want it. Now stop pussyfooting around and tell me about this man."

Kate sighed and let knees unlock so she dropped unceremoniously onto the bench. "Lanie, I don't even know how to describe him. He's so…so…"

"Dreamy?"

"No."

"Smooth?"

"No."

"Kissable?"

"God, no. The man is a menace."

"What?"

"I'm not kidding, Richard Castle is an arrogant, elitist, stubborn ass."

Lanie hummed, nodding sagely. "You like him."

Kate felt her lip curl in distaste at the thought. "Don't even go there."

"What's got you so fired up then?"

"I told you, he's a jerk."

"I'm going to need more proof than that."

"Okay," Kate huffed. "He lives with his mother."

"He lives with her or she lives with him? That's a pretty big distinction."

"I don't know," Kate frowned, involuntarily considering it. "I went through her financials for her alibi and there weren't any mortgage or rent payments…so I guess she lives with them."

"Them?" Lanie cocked her head slightly.

"Castle and his daughter."

"Castle has a daughter? I didn't know that. I thought he was single."

"A single parent, unless you count Martha."

"On first name terms already, huh?"

"Oh, Martha's fine. It's her son I can't deal with."

"Okay, enough bashing your hero. I'm going to need some concrete proof. Living with his mother is not enough to inspire your wrath. 24 hours ago you would have sold your apartment just to have coffee with the guy."

"I would not!"

"Don't deny it. What the hell did he do?"

"Fine," Kate glared at her friend. "He opens the door last night, and as soon as I tell him I'm NYPD and want to talk to Martha, he goes all firewall on me."

"Don't most people?"

"I wasn't accusing him of anything, I didn't even want to talk to him. I just wanted to talk to Martha."

"And he tried to shield her. Honey, that's sweet."

"No, it's not. I asked her to come in for questioning and he refused. That's interference. Then he goes on saying that I don't have grounds to take her in and she doesn't even have to talk to me."

"Was he right?"

"No!" Kate stood up, the indignation as fresh now as it had been then. Lanie shot her a look and she felt herself deflating. "Maybe," she grumbled.

"So he knows his criminal law and rights," Lanie shrugged. "That's not illegal. Besides, he still came into the precinct."

Kate thought back to the laughter he had shared with her Captain and the easy, open way he had answered questions, the way he had supported his mother. She remembered feeling off balance at the way he had put together the idea of Martha's danger and the connections just as fast as she did. The warmth of his breath in her ear as he read over her shoulder when she was on the phone with Lanie.

He read over her shoulder.

He was more than happy to be 'in her hands.'

He answered the questions and backed off the firewall, but he was a smug, rich, opportunistic playboy.

"Yeah, well," she muttered resentfully. "I didn't ask him to."

He smelled good.

"So he froze you out last night, he was perfectly fine today. What exactly is your problem with him?"

Kate stared at her helplessly. Lanie raised her eyebrows, obviously expecting an answer but Kate's mind was still on a hamster wheel.

On a groan she let her head drop back in exasperation. "I don't know."

…


	7. Chapter 7

**Standard Disclaimer**

**Thanks for all the reviews, I'm trying to balance character and case for you. This one has a bit more case than the last.**

Looks like she was going to have to tamper with the thermostat again, she sighed and pushed the door closed with her back. She wasn't sure she had the energy to push it closed with her hand or even her leg anymore. The shoes stayed on and the golden shield reworked its contract with gravity until it threatened to drag her straight through her couch and to the apartment downstairs. Or the lobby rather. She had searched a long time to find her place, low enough that she could get out in a hurry without having to rely on the fire escape.

Usually that meant she lost some of her alone time to traffic, but it had long ago become white noise. Tonight she didn't hear a thing except the call of the couch. It was too cold in her apartment but warm enough she would be able to snatch a few hours before the cold penetrated the coat she still wore and forced her to change and drag herself under her comforter.

Maybe that's how Martha felt after the reviews Fulton wrote. Kate had read only a few and she was seeing red. Jerk. Even Lanie would agree he was a jerk.

She didn't have the energy for this right now.

She had conjured a fuzzy image in her mind of said comforter, 100% down currently tucked away in a rich chocolate cover when her hip was shaken. Just a slight tremble, almost like a heartbeat against her waist.

With considerable effort she wormed her hand between the folds of her jacket and down to the source.

"Beckett."

"Beckett, it's me."

"Esposito?"

"You're gonna have to come back in. Richard Castle says he'll only talk to you."

"You have got to be kidding me," she groaned. "And this couldn't wait?"

"Wish I was."

"Okay," she pushed herself up. "Give me thirty, and Esposito, there better be coffee ready when I get there."

"You got it, Boss."

This case was a serious pain in the ass.

…

The radio weather man in her cruiser, in her opinion, was way too cheerful when he announced it was heading down past 20 degrees. She had the heater going on full, but in the old car it sounded more like an old man puffing. Most days she didn't mind it, but the frosting of white on the salt strewn streets made her think of old people tonight.

The silver lining lay in the reviving properties the snap of night air had provided. On her arrival at the precinct, she was too cold and too wary of catching her heels in a patch of black ice to be anything less that fully awake and aware.

"Detective Beckett," Officer Steinwick greeted her from his booth as she went through security. He passed her back her bag and hardware with the wink he saved for her.

"Hey, Steinwick. When Richard Castle arrives, can you send him on up?"

"Richard Castle the actor? They brought him in an hour ago."

Beckett's head came up sharply from where she was re-strapping her holster. "They what?"

"Your boys," Steinwick explained. "I heard he's waiting for you in interrogation."

What the hell?

…

Beckett made a cursory sweep of the darkened bullpen from the elevator when she stepped out and called out when she failed to see her Latino team member. "Esposito."

A shaved head popped out of the break room and waved her over.

"What is going on?"

"Your protective detail brought him in."

"What? Why?"

"Assault on an officer," Esposito explained leading her back towards the break room rather than interrogation. "Seems no one ever told him his mom was under watch. Castle caught him and," he broke off with a shake of his head.

"And?"

"Well, let's just say McNally had a hard time even getting his Taser out."

She felt her jaw drop a little. "McNally Tasered him?"

"Self defense," Esposito shrugged. "He nailed Castle just as his partner caught them up."

"Against an actor?"

"Yeah, well. McNally is waiting to report then he'll have to get cleaned up. He's waiting for you in the conference room."

Cleaned up? "Where's Castle?"

"Interrogation 1."

"Great." Just great.

..

"Officer McNally," she masked the tingle of sleep deprivation the warmth reawakened and greeted the man seated at the long table.

He stood respectfully. "Detective Beckett."

The movement brought him into direct light from the panel fluorescents above and she almost did a double take. "What happened?" His clothes were soaked with snow and stained with what looked distinctly like alleyway New York. He worked to keep his face as neutral as possible but until she determined how he had come to be here, she couldn't be sure if the stiff features were embarrassment or an attempt not to aggravate the tenuous clots and braised skin.

"My partner, Simmons and I followed the target until she was dropped at the back door of the Nederlander. I made to enter the premises but the son must have spotted and tailed me. He made me outside the dressing room so I left out the service entrance. I had a line open with Simmons so he knew to take up the tail and I would work the van."

"But Castle followed you," Kate surmised.

"The guy's persistent." Was that admiration in his voice? "He caught me a block out. I reached for my badge but he was on me. Must have thought I was reaching for a concealed."

Kate felt her eyebrows lofting, forced to survey his injuries again. Under the swelling and dried blood, she couldn't see if McNally had any more serious injuries. He had obviously tried to clean up some of it but had twin bruises setting into the orbits of his eyes. "How bad is it?"

The standard stoic machismo made its requisite appearance and McNally tried to shrug it off. "It doesn't feel too bad. Nothing serious is broken, maybe just my nose."

"He's got a knot on the back of his head that would do Popeye proud," Esposito entered the room with a fresh ice pack. McNally nodded his thanks, holding out one sopping with condensation in exchange. Beckett noted there was a decent amount of blood caked under his nails. His or Richard Castle's?

"Make sure you get that checked out McNally before you think about driving. What about the other member of your little party?"

"Fine, I think. Detective Esposito gave him some ice for his knuckles when I brought him in."

Beckett turned to her team mate unable to curb her smirk and as she mouthed _Nurse Nancy_. His face darkened and he stalked past her to hand off the ice.

"He might have bitten his tongue when I shocked him," McNally continued. "But he was pretty good about it, even apologized when he found out I was on the job."

"Where is your partner now?"

"At the Nederlander theatre," his voice was more of a grunt as the pressure of the ice pack settled over the bridge of his nose.

"Okay. Go get cleaned up. You can work the reports tomorrow if your doctor clears you for duty."

"Thank you, Detective."

"Esposito, can you drop him off on your way out?"

"What about Castle?"

"I can handle that on my own. You weren't going to press any charges, were you McNally?"

"No Ma'am."

"You sure?" Esposito asked her.

"Yeah. I've got this."

…

Kate backtracked to her desk and pulled out the file she had locked there only a couple of hours ago when she packed up for the day. With a neat thumb she flipped them open to ascertain they were the right ones, tilting her neck and almost hoping for a slight crack to bring her muscles some relief. She was going to have to schedule a massage soon. Her knots were forming knots and she knew from experience that when she reached that point, she was beyond the help of her hottest baths.

She let her head roll slowly down and opened her eyes to her open paperwork. As soon as she saw the sunglasses, she knew she had the right one. She didn't expect to need them and didn't particularly want to use them. Short and sweet. The clock was moving on past half ten and thinking seriously about eleven.

The uniform on duty smiled at her and she nodded in return, taking a moment to observe the actor currently in her box. She couldn't see any blood. He was not cuffed to his chair despite the arrest; she suspected that was to allow for the ice pack. It wasn't something they usually offered the people they collared, at least not over what were probably only some bruised knuckles, but Esposito was smart enough to know they weren't going to be able to hold Castle and his type were quick to sue.

He didn't look as though he was about to demand his lawyer though. He was staring straight ahead, apparently ignorant of the pool of warming water accumulating to sandwich his hand between ice pack and linoleum table. He was too busy looking into the two-way mirror.

Great, figures he would be so narcissistic. She did not have the patience for this tonight.

She pushed the door open, breaking his preoccupation and headed to her customary position without bothering to close the door. "Mr. Castle," she sighed, putting the files down on her side of the table.

"You put a detail on my mother."

She stared, looking down at him with her hand still on the back of the chair pulling it out.

"Thank you," he told her seriously and tracked her with her eyes when she unfroze and finished pulling out the chair to sink into. Except the brief exchange with her captain, this was the closest she had seen him some to the man who had opened his front door, unguarded and not out to defend anybody. It made her feel a little unbalanced.

She knew that's where his attitude came from that night – a sort of protective instinct for his mother. It still annoyed her a little, but she had to tell herself that had someone showed up and practically accused her father of murder, she would have been a whole lot less restrained.

Maybe Lanie was right when she said maybe he wasn't a complete ass.

Castle's lips quirked, drawing his face sideways in a proud almost condescending smile and she felt her jaw tighten again. "Sorry I hit him."

Yeah. Not that sorry.

"You have quite an interesting rap sheet for a world famous actor, Mr. Castle," she ignored the feeling. "Drunken disorderly, resisting arrest," she paused, equally torn between disbelief and amusement reading it a second time. "Stealing a police horse."

"Borrowing," he corrected, his smile morphing into a _whoops_, catching his bottom lip up and trying to give her puppy dog eyes. She knew the charges had been dropped but she was irrationally disappointed they hadn't been carried through: the man didn't have a repentant bone in his body.

She couldn't control the lone eyebrow arching up. "It says you were nude at the time."

He looked at her as though the answer was self-explanatory. "It was spring. The Boulevard in LA is enchanting on a spring evening."

The cheek was new. Maybe silence and brooding wasn't so bad.

"I'm sure," she closed the file and tried to convince the eye brow back down. "After your little adventure, I could add assaulting an officer to your jacket," she paused but he didn't look that worried. "However, Officer McNally won't be pressing charges."

"Oh, good." She might have well just told him tonight's special was pan fried salmon.

She couldn't stop her eyes rolling up.

"We'll start the paperwork to get you processed out. In the meantime, I suggest you keep ice on those knuckles. I will have a new detail assigned to your Mother and I would appreciate it if you didn't interfere or blow their cover in any way."

"When I see them, how will I know if they are the detail or someone else?"

"Your detail will be discrete."

"Discrete like facial hair in November or discrete like the fact you're a fan?"

"I'm sorry?" she froze.

"Oh, don't be. You have good taste."

"What?"

"'Where all the scars of the nevers and maybes die?' You knew it was from _Rent_ without googling it."

Kate leaned back in her chair and let one eyebrow rise. He was smirking. It helped her mind resume functioning.

"All that proves is that I may have watched one show or read one script."

"So are you a fan of Mother's or a fan of me? My fan," he frowned a little at the cadence and corrected himself, ignoring her comment.

"You forgot option C," Beckett replied, gathering up the files. "That I am a fan of neither of you. You can ponder on that while you wait."

She was closing the door when he called out.

"You're totally my fan!" he crowed.

She rolled her eyes, the second of compromised vision almost putting her on a collision course with a uniform striding her way.

"Detective Beckett?"

"Yes."

"911 call just came in and was processed through the scanner. There's been an incident at The Nederlander."

No. The tug at the bottom of her stomach was vicious like a rabid pit bull. She can't have failed. She thought she had this one. Martha was supposed to be safe.

"Did you contact Officer Simmons?"

"We were unable to establish contact."

"Shit."

Beckett turned sharply and pushed the interrogation room door sharply open. It bounced back off the far wall and Castle jumped.

"Get your coat," she told him sharply.

"What?"

Beckett ignored him and turned back to the uniform, motioning for him to walk with her while she made for her desk to get her keys and jacket. Behind her she could hear Castle bumbling, presumably surprised and still juggling both coat and ice pack. "Get another detail ready. I'm going to the scene."

"Ma'am."

She tugged her coat roughly from the seat, wincing as it propelled into her leg and bent to snatch her bag out of her bottom drawer.

"What is going…?" Limp icepack in hand, Castle caught her up, still looking at the uniform already disappearing out of sight.

"We're leaving," she told the nonplussed author.

"I'm released?"

"No," she set off for the elevator, leaving him behind again. "You're still under arrest."

There's another damn problem she was going to have to work around. Babysitting him in public and making sure he didn't rabbit. He was just stupid enough to try it, especially if his mother -

"I don't get it. Does this mean I'm under house arrest?" he paused and when she didn't respond. "Are you going to cuff me to my bed?"

She rounded on him, strangling down the urge to yell at him. She hated his attitude more than she hated his protectiveness, more than his haughty arrogance. She hated having to tell him something might have happened to his mother more than the rest combined. At her angry face, his fell.

"What is going on?"

"There's been an incident at The Nederlander."


	8. Chapter 8

**Standard disclaimer. **

**I'll keep writing if you keep reading, deal? :)**

The scanner was on fire with constant updates. Officers arriving on the scene, others in the area reporting in and announcing their ETAs. The ambulances on scene.

She refused to take her eyes off the road and look at Castle who had been silent since she told him she didn't know anything, instead giving the glance to her rear view mirror. Clear, she slipped into the open space in the next lane without indicating and pushed her foot a little firmer to the floor. She couldn't begrudge him that.

The scanner crackled again with contact from the ambulance to Mt Sinai. Request for a Trauma Surgeon on standby, gunshot to left abdominopelvic cavity. ETA fifteen minutes.

No patient information was released.

She risked hitting speed dial where her phone was nestled in above her empty coffee holder.

"Esposito," came the rough answer. The poor guy sounded bushed, he could have only just got in from dropping McNally at the hospital. It was a hell of a day when you were called back into work twice in one night.

"It's me," she said tersely, braking suddenly when a cab made an illegal turn only a few dozen feet further down in the traffic. She doubted it was born of a desire to move aside and clear her a path. "There's been an attack down at the Nederlander where Ms. Rodgers is performing and I can't reach Simmons."

"How bad?" There was already rustling coming through the speakers.

"Still on route. Scanner sounds bad."

"I'll contact Ryan. ETA 30."

And he was gone, roughly jerking silence back over the car. It wasn't awkward. He wasn't aloof; he was obviously desperately holding himself together. It was a sensation she was more familiar with than she liked so she respected his withdrawal and spent what attention was not devoted to the road wondering at the 180 he pulled. Silent and brooding to annoying asshole.

Maybe he was bipolar.

When they had to crawl through an intersection, waiting for pedestrians and she caught sight of a woman helping her young son over the ice, she risked breaking their truce.

"Do you want to call your daughter?"

He swallowed hard and shook his head.

"Not until I know," he husked out. "I won't put her through this unless I know."

She nodded and went back to surfing through traffic.

The street outside the Nederlander was always busy, especially when the shows got out and the vying for taxis began, but even with the siren, they were looking at a good fifty meter walk up. The ambulance and flashing cars only drew and fed the mass of humanity blocking their way.

An officer was still in the process of establishing a police line with the hastily assembled back up units when Beckett descended on him.

"Detective Beckett, 41319. 12th Precinct Homicide. What is the situation?"

"Ma'am," the older man barely glanced at her shield though he stopped in his hasty efforts with yellow crime scene tape. "An Officer from the 12th is on route to Mt Sinai. He was in plain clothes but had his piece and shield."

"Gunshot?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Were there any other casualties?"

"No casualties but the paramedics are in there with another injured civilian."

"Description?" she held her breath.

"Female. Older. Actress. Red hair."

"Injuries?"

"She was still being examined. There are two at the door."

Castle didn't wait to hear more, taking off with lunging strides and she let him go. She didn't think she could stop him.

Kate took a deep breath and looked out over the irregular clumps of faces lighting up in the night. They were pressing in close, the number of uniforms not enough to hold them back until the tape went up. It had been a long time since she was the First on Scene and she was trying to coordinate her resources, map them out in her head when she knew she couldn't call them together to brief them nor did she have the power to subpoena them. She would just have to trust in them to do their job.

"Any sign of the attacker?"

"No, Maám."

"Okay. Maintain the perimeter. The civilian was under protection so I have my team coming down to canvas. Try and keep the witnesses until they arrive."

…

The halls were narrower than she had imagined them. Darker too. The lights were too bright, cheap white fluorescents that lit up the night for a few meters but then dropped off into nothingness, not attempting to merge with the outposts of its neighbor. Kate had always imagined warm yellow lights, actors in costume and props being rolled through the halls, everyone doing a little side stepping to let them pass.

Not after hours apparently.

The uniforms managed to clear the corridor and stood outside the dressing room, silhouettes backlit by the lights and voices echoing down to her. The nodded when she flashed her badge and let her pass in time to hear the last two words of a thankfully conscious Martha Rodgers.

"- sit up," her voice was unsteady, like she was thinking about being about drunk, but hadn't decided yet.

Kate let out the breath shakily, a little overcome with the relief of allowing herself fresh air and seeing the actress responding to Castle, already camped out at her side.

The paramedic not working on Martha looked up at her intrusion, but she ignored him and focused on Martha. She was blinking slowly, but her grip on her son's hand was fierce enough she could see it buckling the skin on the back of his palms.

She came to a stop behind Martha's shoulder and Castle flicked her a glance before focusing back on his heavily reclined mother.

"Your scene?" The paramedic on Martha's other side asked brusquely. Kate nodded. "She was found conscious but has some blunt force trauma to the back of the skull."

"How bad?"

"Looking at a bad concussion. Her BP's a little lower than we'd like and heart rate is elevated so we're going to get her to Mt. Sinai. They'll probably want to keep her in overnight for observation."

"Nonsense," Martha insisted, blinking up at them owlishly. Even from where Kate stood she could see the pupils were reacting to the lights unusually. "The only reason my heart's up is because you're such a lovely young man." The more she spoke, the worse her slurring seemed to get. "Just need to catch," she inhaled deeply. "my breath. Help me sit up."

"Are your ribs alright?" Beckett asked her, frowning at the uncomfortably fast speed the older woman was taking in gasps of air.

"Kate," Martha smiled widely, obviously recognizing her. While she sounded stable, Kate knew better than to trust Martha's mental state. She was likely in something like shock; a deceptively normal state governed unconsciously. Kate remembered falling once- at least she remembered up until a second before she fell, but nothing until twenty minutes after despite being told she had seemed fine at the time. To this day she had no memory of those twenty minutes.

She couldn't get any sort of statement now.

"Are you feeling okay? Why don't we sit you up like you wanted?" Kate looked at the paramedic who nodded his permission and he and Castle helped Martha into a more upright position.

"That's," she paused. "Much better. I can breathe."

The paramedic frowned and took another look at the back of her head. Kate could only assume shortness of breath without any injury to the torso was not a good sign. Castle was frowning as well, picking up on the renewed tension in the medical professional. Martha interrupted their separate internal worries with an abrupt pitch forward, choking over a dry heave. Castle steadied her, smoothing one large hand over the ridges of vertebrae.

"Call ahead to Mt. Sinai," the paramedic told his colleague. "Ms. Rodgers, we're going to load you into the ambulance now."

Martha made a vague gesture toward them off, but Castle nodded and whispered to his mother. It took some convincing but her struggles lessened and the paramedics transferred her to the gurney, outfitting her with supplementary oxygen. When the mask was secure over her face, they raised the table and started to wheel her out.

Castle made to follow and she caught him with a hand at his elbow. "You're still technically under arrest."

Her words brought him up short and he turned on her sharply. "I'm not leaving her."

She let her eyes slipped closed for a half second longer than your average blink, trying to think around it because she didn't want to separate them. But he was still supposed to be in custody. He was going to ignore her or take off and she was going to have to charge him.

When she reopened her eyes saw him still standing there impatiently. What was she supposed to do now? It wasn't like she could just up and leave the scene without handing it off to…

"Beckett," Ryan and Esposito slipped in, glancing back and forth between the two of them.

"Perfect timing. I'm going to give a police escort and guard until the detail can take over. Start a canvas and work the scene. Call me with anything solid otherwise meeting first thing tomorrow."

"You got it."

She turned to Castle who was visibly chaffing. "Come on."


	9. Chapter 9

**Standard disclaimer.**

**I know you wanted a longer chapter, but if I don't split this, it is looong. Like 4 and a bit k long. Don't hit me. **

**Also let's just say Mt. Sinai is the closest to the Nederlander...because I really have no idea.**

They made it back to her cruiser as the ambulance moved off. Running in her boots made her arches ache but they cleared the fifty meters while Martha was being secured so they were ready to pull out in front of the bus and help light the way.

As he had been on their way in, Castle was silent. He just looked out the window as if the flashing red and blue lights behind them were gaudy Christmas tree decorations – something you couldn't ignore but didn't look at. As if it wasn't his mother in the ambulance behind them. She had flicked her rear view vision mirror down as soon as the ambulance fell in behind, knowing from experience the flashes or red and blue were disorientating. She was distracted enough monitoring her passenger and preparing herself for an outburst without getting caught out by every flash behind her. Anger was the textbook reaction to this situation: anger at the attacker redirected at her for keeping him away from his mother. It would just be a matter of time.

But he remained self-contained and remote. His hands were steady in his lap. The cellphone he held was top of the line, but he didn't seem inclined to use it at all. A finger just ran ceaselessly down the side of it absently while his eyes blankly took in the road in front of them. She hadn't seen him blink once.

Maybe he was going into shock. It wasn't the reaction she would have expected from him, but it's not like she really knew the guy.

"How soon are you going to hear back from your team on the scene?" he asked abruptly, making her startle.

She blinked and cleared her throat. "Unless they find anything urgent, I won't."

"Why?"

She looked at him sharply, surprised at the urgency in his tone but he didn't flinch and she saw his question wasn't motivated by anger or outrage; he was trying to distract himself and his extreme attention and concentration was a little suffocating in the car.

"I know _why_," he shook his head tightly when she didn't reply. "You told them to save it for morning meeting tomorrow and I assume that's because there's a lot they have to do, but what exactly do they have to do? The uniforms set up a perimeter. Was that to keep people out?"

"Castle," she temporized. He was a civilian, she wasn't supposed to talk to him about this kind of thing.

"Please. Distract me."

"I'm not supposed to discuss police procedure."

"No? I guess that makes sense. If that sort of information gets too widespread or detailed there'll be criminals exploiting it left right and center." He was practically talking to himself, muttering and staring out the window again.

"You don't really look like a killer to me, Castle."

"Really?" He looked at her in surprise. It was the first genuine emotion she had seen crack his mask since they got in the car. "I feel kind of…insulted."

"I'm just speaking from a professional point of view."

"You can tell a killer just by looking at them?" Castle was suddenly childishly focused on her eyes and she tried not to shy away from the attention. This wasn't self-preservation and distraction; it was genuine interest in her personally.

"No. I meant that in my capacity as Investigator of Record on this case, I could dismiss you as a suspect because you were in police custody when your mother was attacked."

"Oh." He sounded a little disappointed and a little woozy, like he had just undergone a bad case of vertigo. When his chin turned so he could look back at the ambulance, she guessed he had. The talk had let him forget his mother had been attacked for a minute.

He turned back in his seat and she saw him take up his phone again. Would he call his daughter? Was she all alone at the apartment now, waiting for her father and her grandmother to come home?

"Do you want to call your daughter before we get there?" Beckett asked, not knowing why she let herself get involved. Compassion was understandable but she never interfered with the lives of the people she dealt with through work.

"And tell her what?"

Right.

They were only a couple of minutes out.

…

In the minute it took her to park in the designated Police parks near the EMS bay she lost both Castle and Martha. In less than sixty seconds the gurney had been offloaded and taken in by the waiting medical staff and was lost into the depths of the hospital.

Against protocol she had let Castle out on their way past, trusting he would follow the gurney and possibly get in the way enough to stall the medical teams until she could get there. At least now she had lost him that was how she explained it to herself. When she told him to get out of the car ahead of her though, she couldn't put her reasons into a coherent sentence but knew she would regret keeping him from his mother any longer than she had already by preventing him riding in the ambulance with her.

Now they were both gone.

The ambulance was still parked there and she bee-lined for it rather than heading into the building itself. It wasn't her first trip to this hospital and she knew where the Emergency Department reception was but she had never had to reverse engineer her trip. If the paramedics couldn't tell her what the situation was, at least they could direct her to someone who could without her searching all the corridors and wasting more time.

The double swing doors to the back of the bus were still open supporting the weight of one of the paramedics who sat, his legs swinging as he lit a cigarette. Even from across the bay she could see he was washed out so she figured the smoking was a coping mechanism. He had been confident enough at the scene.

What shakes a guy like that? What happened to Martha? Maybe he had ridden in with Officer Simmons instead.

She upped her pace towards him and saw him slide down and onto his feet, hastily stubbing out the cigarette under his sole. It was an odd reaction to have towards an incoming cop, unarmed at that - but then she heard the hurried footsteps behind her, running and closing fast.

She didn't even manage to get a glimpse behind her before a hand took hers and pulled enough she was forced to stumble to regain her balance, the force of the contact strong enough not only to halt her forward momentum but drag her backwards. On autopilot she contracted her arm, pointing her elbow and spun to use it against some ribs. Only an inch away from contact her mind processed the floppy hair and sports jacket of her attacker, too late to do anything other than try and cushion the blow as much as possible.

He went down to his knees with a wheeze, his hand ripping from hers.

Crap.

"Castle!"

He fumbled a hand to his side and applied pressure, his mouth screwed shut firmly – a reaction to a sensation she knew well enough personally to guess he was trying to fend off dry heaving. The paramedic knelt at his side but he waved him off.

"What the hell were you thinking, grabbing a cop like that?"

He just shook his head with his attention still focused on the oil stain littered cement.

Oh God, I attacked Richard Castle.

"I'm sorry."

He didn't reply. Kate replayed the moment of impact in her mind and judged the feel of elbow with mounting anxiety. She knew what cracking ribs felt like and what it did to her- numbing all down her forearm and leaving the rest of her elbow and arm throbbing, but she felt fine.

"I pulled most of it, I think. How are the ribs? I don't think they're cracked."

Again the tight head shake. "Not cracked," he managed.

She let out a quiet sigh of relief and squatted down so they were level. She could see his chest expanding properly again, still cautious but to full capacity so she hoped he was feeling better – well enough to answer some questions. She suppressed the urge to rest her hand on his shoulder.

Behind her she could sense the paramedic hovering.

"Better?" she asked.

"Than what?" he asked, huffing out a breathless puff of laughter at his own joke. "It beats getting tasered that's for sure."

Kate looked up in time to see the paramedic's eyes bulge. God, that sounded so wrong- it's not like Kate had a habit of torturing the man.

"Not funny, Castle. Why would you do that? Is Martha okay?"

"I don't know, they took her to get a MRI," he got to his feet. She kept her hands balled at her sides to stop them stretching towards him and supporting him. He was fine. Worrying about spoiled actors was not her job. She was here for Martha.

"Did they tell you anything?"

"Yeah. To give her some space," he replied sourly, gingerly pressing the heel of his palm to his side. So that's where the snark came in- when he felt uncomfortable or out of control. "They said she lost consciousness five minutes out and told me to wait until they'd done their preliminary assessments. There's a waiting room down that way. A nurse was going to show me the way but I thought I had better come and find you first, since I'm still technically under arrest. "

The paramedic's eyes blew wide again and she sighed. Not going to even bother.

"All right. Let's go."

…


	10. Chapter 10

**Standard Disclaimer. **

**Here's the rest of yesterday's one. Sorry for splittin' it. **

**Enjoy and let me know what you think. **

…

"How's he doing? Officer Simmons, right?" Castle asked when she came back into the little alcove. She didn't know until she had been up to the nurse's station, but its location was perfect for ED. From the desk she could see Castle as he paced- an edgy rhythm, too short and choppy. Three steps one way and four or five back.

The nurses could see them, but she knew that when seated the angle of the wall protruding hid the medical staff from those waiting in a comforting illusion of privacy.

"He's in the OR, now. It's too early to tell, but as his superior they said they'll keep me posted. His partner is on his way in."

"The guy who tasered me? He's okay?"

"Yeah."

"Does this happen a lot?"

"What?"

He shrugged. "Getting shot. Being assaulted on a routine task."

She thought of the knife wound she got in uniform just looking through a dumpster only to meet the murderer who came back to collect evidence. She hadn't expected to end up in hospital because of that mundane assignment. "It can do."

She knew Simmons hadn't expected to end up fighting for his life tonight. Her fault, it was her fault.

"You ever been shot?"

"God, Castle. You have no idea do you? How many members of NYPD never get the chance to retire? Being shot is not a walk in the park or a cool story to tell at a party."

He looked hurt but she looked away and pretended she hadn't noticed. She didn't want to feel any guiltier right now. She had put Simmons and McNally on Martha's detail and look what happened. She didn't even know if Simmons was going to make it through. Damn it, she should have gotten a replacement detail down there as soon as she found out Simmons was on his own.

If she had, none of this would have happened. Simmons would be at home and Martha would have had two officers watching her so she could get home safely.

"Why did you call me Castle?" the question came out of the left field, just like the cup of coffee. It had taken all of ten minutes for the actor to get tired of pacing and resort to chancing the coffee left in the glass jug. This would be his second and another to make as a peace offering. She dragged her sandy eyes up from the shadow he was casting on the lino flooring and up to where he stood over her. His eyes were clear of any resentment or anger, just the lines of worry at the corners, high jacking space stamped with laughter lines.

"It's your name." She nodded her thanks and took the Styrofoam cup for the warmth. Maybe she had been a little harsh on him. Way to take your anger at yourself out on someone.

"It's one of my names," Castle shot back.

"I know. And I wasn't thinking. My apologies, Mr. Castle."

"You know that's not what I meant. You call Mother, Martha."

"She asked me to."

"If I asked you to call me Rick, would you?"

She stared at him for a moment then admitted. "No. I don't think I would."

"Why?" he was curious and stationary. Absorbed enough to forget he was a hospital pacer.

She wasn't sure. He just wasn't a Richard, Rick or Ricky to her; they just didn't suit him. Maybe it's because whenever she thought about plays she had seen him in, she had always thought of him as _Castle_. The websites always referred to him as Castle. Years of her thinking that way about him weren't going to change just because he asked her to.

Then again maybe she didn't want to get any closer to this guy. He was messing with her subconscious every time he turned around.

"Never mind," he muttered and started back at his pacing, his head coming up and staring at every hospital worker who walked past. The coffee remained untouched in his hand, cradled in against his chest. He made quite the stereotype. But then Kate didn't have anything to compare him to; she had never had to wait on someone she loved. Her mother never had the chance to fight for her life and so Kate was spared the experience of pacing.

Would it have made a difference if Johanna Beckett had lived long enough to make it to the hospital? If she had been able to say goodbye?

Aside from an irreversible dislike of hospitals, she didn't think so. She started when a trickle of lukewarm coffee spilled over the lip of the crushed cup.

This sucked.

Maybe she should cut him a break. He seemed to appreciate levity and conversation as a distraction. As soon as she decided she was going to talk to him though, nervousness tightened in her gut. What was she supposed to talk about with Richard Castle? She had no idea what he liked- aside from signing chests. She had always fantasized she would meet him in a café somewhere and she could ask him about all the shows he had worked on, but it would be a cold day in hell before she did that now.

She was horrifyingly ignorant of the latest and greatest trends, movies, restaurants.

"The barrier is usually to keep spectators out," Beckett offered. He came to an abrupt halt and stared. She figured that was a good sign and continued. "Especially press. It also helps keep witnesses on scene until their statements have been taken."

She knew work. That had been her life for so long now. But…she could talk a little about that…right? He wanted to know about procedure. Maybe it would be boring enough to distract him.

He swallowed. "Not everyone is as co-operative as me?"

"Yeah," she felt the corners of her lips drag tiredly up in a smirk. "The tape is to keep them from running away. I've never had to use it to _keep_ civilians from co-operating."

"So when you corral these charming people - like myself, you…question them?"

"After the scene is secure," she confirmed.

"Where they were?" his face was intent on hers.

"Where they were, when. What they saw, heard. Their relationship with any victim or with the location. Sometimes they have knowledge of schedules or floor plans that are useful," she paused then added almost playfully, "Name and contact details, they can be pretty important later on."

This was helping to distract her too.

"No," he gasped. "Surely you don't need to resort to that to get a man's number, Detective."

She rolled her eyes. Looks like Mr Castle was very easily distracted.

"I'm serious. You have the most amazing eyes."

"How about you, Mr. Castle?" she sidestepped that one. "What's your interest in NYPD protocol?"

"Future serial killer," he deadpanned. "No, the procedure is kind of like acting to me."

"What?"

"The rules, the step by step way you go through a situation just reminds me of the mental preparation that goes into playing a role you haven't been exposed to before. How a character thinks is governed, for me, by what they have to do."

"It helps you get in their head?" she summed up.

"It helps me get into their life. From there it's into their heads, then their hearts. Dreams and motivations. Characters always have so much more than what the script dictates and if you want to be that character, you have to know them. Everything about them."

She nodded, trying to mask the growing amazement. She couldn't believe she was actually having this conversation with her favorite actor.

She couldn't believe that after bruising his ribs and thinking about shooting him, he was still her favorite actor.

"So there you have it, Detective. I bet that with the way you play people in interrogation, you would make quite the actress yourself."

"I don't think so," she scoffed.

"No? Okay then, your turn. Why a detective, Detective?"

She felt her face lock down for the briefest second, caught off guard at the 180 he had pulled on her. "No reason," she replied as easily as she could.

He looked at her for a long second then his face too lost the light their conversation had brought. "Maybe you wouldn't make a great actress after all," he offered.

"Yeah, well, I'm a cop," she muttered.

"Why?"

"That's really none of your business."

"Maybe not," he granted. "But I've been thinking about it all day. I've played so many characters, gotten into so many heads, know so many different types of people, but there's something about you I just can't place."

She refused to react to that, and just stared him down. She didn't want to do this. Ever. Especially not tonight. Not here.

"You're not bridge and tunnel – no trace of the boroughs when you talk. That means Manhattan; that means money. You went to college, probably a pretty good one. You had options – lots of options. Better options. More socially acceptable options and yet you still chose this."

She felt sick to her stomach but refused to let her gaze shift off him. He thought he could get to her? Well he was wrong.

"That tells me something happened. Not to you," he murmured, looking straight back. "No, you're wounded, but you're not that wounded. It was someone you cared about. It was someone you loved."

His eyes were warm on hers, almost like he apologizing, but at the same time he was moving closer, intent and invasive. She felt like she had been sucker punched.

"And you probably couldn't live with that but the person responsible was never caught. And that, Detective Beckett, is why you're here." He looked away sharply, almost embarrassed and she forced a reply through her brain.

"Cute trick." He looked back at her and she had to double check her mask was still flawless. "Don't think you know me."

"No," he admitted quickly, "I didn't say I did…I just," he broke off uncomfortably. "I got carried away."

She decided to let it slide, but knew she couldn't take another round like that; she knew his type. Once he caught scent of a drop of blood, he would never give up the hunt.

She needed one of the night shifts to process his discharge papers. She would sign when she made it back in, but she couldn't be responsible for him. "I need to make a phone call," she told him. "Stay here."

The smirk he sent her was a shadow of the one he had in the interrogation room. "Scout's honor."

…

"Detective Beckett?"

She withdrew her attention from her study of the paintwork and fixed it on the first person outside Castle to address her in almost two hours. It took a little effort but she managed to refocus her eyes for long distance and register the two NYPD officers standing just outside the curtained cubicle.

She might have been worried that she hadn't heard their approach, but the monitor in this cubicle and the ones on either sides were only a few of the traditional sounds that accompany a hospital even at night that were more than enough to cover the sounds of two officers approaching.

The two officers stepped inside the cubicle and she stood, recognizing one of the men. His cheeks were still tinged red with the cold from outside. Despite the hour, he looked alert. He was one of the senior uniforms at the 12th but as he worked the night shift, she usually caught him on her way in, looking like he was well and truly ready to hit the hay just as she was preparing to start her working day. She also knew that he always had to take his daughter to school before he got that rest.

"Officer Turrin," she nodded to him.

"Thought we'd take over," he smiled. "Early bird like you shouldn't still be awake. L.T is covering for us and says that Carter finished the paperwork for Mr. Castle."

Oh right, Mr. Castle. The guy had calmed down a lot once the doctor had come out and confirmed the rough diagnosis the paramedic had offered them at the Nederlander. A severe concussion that they would monitor overnight and maybe release her, depending on her condition the next day.

She had sustained damage to the back of her skull, bruising the part of her brain which controlled breathing control. She was on supplementary oxygen now and they were watching her intracranial pressure. She had regained consciousness once when they were moving her into her current bed and her condition was stable.

By the time the doctor left Castle was almost back to his former level of spirits, asking questions and trying to get a smile out of all the nurses just so he could decide which one smiled the widest. He said that would be the one he could persuade to let him stay here overnight. The better he felt, the more she hoped the new detail arrived soon.

At the moment his tall frame was spread between the end of his mother's bed and the chair nurses had provided them. He took the chair on the side of the bed up against the wall, wedging himself in where she couldn't just push him through the curtains and walk him out of the hospital. Subconsciously, or possibly consciously, he had arranged it so the wall had his back.

Currently he was asleep, drooling lightly over his mother's hand.

She considered waking him up, but decided against it.

Once Martha had been transferred to this room, she felt her tie to Castle slip and allow her to breathe. The crushing weight of not knowing had been lifted from his shoulders and she no longer felt the need to help him carry it.

He was discharged officially from police custody. This would be goodbye and that he was unconscious only made it easier.

"Thanks," she smiled at the older officer. "Simmons is still in the OR, but sounds like he'll be okay."

"We heard. Don't worry, we'll keep an eye on both of them. You just get some sleep so you can find the guy and haul him in."

"I can do that."

…

The air had chilled further, content enough for once to follow the directions of the disembodied weather man of her car stereo. Before all this. A shudder moved her limbs with latent energy she wasn't sure she had left. Outside the glare of the lobby lights Kate couldn't see any taxis waiting so she kept her spine straight against the cold and called a cab to take her home.

The clock on her cell ball parked her at nearly three a.m. Her tired mind supplied the math. She had been on the go for 22 hours.

She could see the vapor trails escaping when her lungs compressed. When she was a kid, she liked to think she was smoking like a dragon, ready to breathe fire at any minute. A decade later she just kept it at smoking, her puffs of warm air the closest she wanted to get to a cigarette. As the warm breath escaped her chapping lips she couldn't help but recall the steams of it Castle had released like clouds at their arrival at the Nederlander.

She closed her eyes and tried to stamp the blood back into her feet and combat some of the cold seeping through the soles.

Simmons was going to be okay. Martha was going to be okay. Castle was not going to bother her anymore.

Her life was going to go back to normal.

In the morning she would come back and find the missing piece.


	11. Chapter 11

**Standard Disclaimer.**

**Here's another longer one for you, because it's a beautiful sunny weekend down here.**

**R&R.**

"All our witnesses say he was masked," Esposito mused. "Why would he do that?"

"Because it was public?" Ryan hazarded.

Both of them had slight bags under their eyes and white ceramic mugs in their hands. By nine thirty, she was onto her fourth mug.

"Because it wasn't the same person? Maybe she just has really bad luck." Even Esposito didn't sound like he believed it. It would have to be a pretty glaring coincidence for her to be attacked by someone other than the murderer they were hoping to protect her from.

"Because she knew him," Beckett decided. "None of the other victims showed any signs of assault, just the GSW. It's personal enough that he came for her in public. He's escalating. Becoming inconsistent."

"Are you sure?"

"No," she admitted. "I'll have to talk to her and maybe Simmons if he's ready. Maybe they'll have a better description of our man. "

"Mrs. R said she didn't have any enemies."

Beckett thought back to her check of Martha's financials and shrugged. There was something in her past she was hiding. Kate would have to ask about it and see if that was their connection. Something had happened in 2003. Martha had gone broke almost overnight.

"Well, we'll see what Fulton has to say about that. He's been waiting about an hour now. That should make him run his mouth."

"There was something in his reviews?" Ryan asked.

"I think he might have invented some new ways to trash Martha in those reviews."

"Is that why you've let him stew?"

"Maybe."

"Don't mess with Momma Bear," Esposito laughed.

"Shut. Up."

"Right." He looked abruptly at the ground.

"Okay, let's go. I want you guys to run whatever he gives me. If he's feeding me crap, I want to know before his lawyer gets here."

"You got it."

…

"Mr. Fulton," she drawled. "Or should I call you 'The Grand'?"

He didn't look Grand. He looked like a man trying to convince people he was worth looking at; carefully expensive clothes, shiny shoes, forward posture. A very beaky nose and forgettable round face which looked very pinched under a careful haircut designed to mask a receding hairline.

"I want my lawyer."

"Oh, we're getting off to a great start," she smirked, taking a seat.

"I know my rights."

"And I wouldn't dream of denying you those. We're all about protecting people's rights here," she confessed. "It's kind of our job. When a person gets murdered, they have a right to justice. When a person gets attacked, they have a right to have their attacker caught."

"I don't have anything to say about that."

"That's a shame, we all thought you were going to be eloquent," she jerked a thumb at the mirror behind her. "You are a writer after all, aren't you? I guess that means you have the right to write anything you want, right?"

"Enough with the 'rights' thing."

"Sorry," she said, all faked surprise. "Here I was thinking you would appreciate the repetition. Guess not. See I have quite the stack of paper here, most of it penned by you, and I read it all. Some of it goes back about ten years and your style is quite repetitive – must be the old 'can't teach an old dog new tricks' play. Tell me, do you remember the review you wrote for _Aida_?"

"I'm not talking until my lawyer gets here."

"Oh, that's fine. How about I just read over it while we wait? You don't have to say anything."

"I don't appreciate your sarcasm, Detective."

She shrugged, silently telling him there was nothing he could do about that. If he wasn't such an officious jackass she would tell him out loud. "Long paragraphs. An excess use of adverbs, but not too heavy on the adjectives. Seriously, with these adverbs, you should have gone into sales. Though maybe not I read these reviews and they seem to desperately lack positive adverbs and adjectives. I haven't found one brilliantly, perfectly, stunning, unforgettably, dazzling, convincing…you get the idea. At least not in these articles. Do you know what they have in common, Mr. Fulton?"

He stared over her shoulder.

"They were written about the performances of Martha Rodgers. I'm assuming the name rings a bell."

He continued to ignore her prompts.

"Well, they should. Witnesses said you hoped that Martha Rodgers would be the next victim: 'a purging of Broadway'. Quite poetic, don't you think? Ironic isn't it, that she was the next victim."

"Wait, Martha's dead?"

"No," Beckett said flatly. "Sorry to get your hopes up. She'll make a full recovery and had quite the story to tell about the man who broke into her dressing room last night." Or she would, Kate hoped, when she got down to the hospital to take her statement.

"What are you talking about?"

"I haven't really decided yet. How about you tell me what you were doing last night, and we'll see if I'm talking about assault?"

"You've got to be joking. What a waste of my time."

"I'm glad you think so. Me though? I have a man who has a longstanding grudge against my victim, recently threatened her, and as someone who has been affiliated with the business a _long_ time- a knowledge of the backstage. So why don't you tell me I'm wasting my time?"

"You are. I was at a play last night."

"At the Nederlander?"

"No. I was on the other side of town."

"I'm going to need the name of the theatre and where you were sitting."

"I wouldn't hurt Martha."

"Physically, right? But on paper anything goes."

"I write reviews. It's my job to have an opinion and spread it."

"Uh huh," she drawled. "And it wouldn't be personal at all, would it? I read a review of Aida by an Angelica Huntley, and funnily enough, she thought the show was enchanting. She didn't have a bad word to say about it. Funny that two professionals such as yourself have such different views."

He didn't respond at all.

"Now I asked myself, why would a man be so determined to pull an actress down? One or two bad reviews are not unheard of, but every single one? Why would someone do that? That's quite the nasty grudge. Surely it made you unpopular with your editors – that only you wrote such bad reviews for good shows. That sounds like plenty of motive to hurt her so I hope for your sake that someone in that theatre had eyes on you at the beginning, middle and end of last night."

"I went alone."

"Your wife didn't join you?" Beckett asked. "That's too bad. Without cameras in the theatre, it's going to be hard to prove you were there, Mr. Fulton."

"That is enough. I would not hurt Martha Rodgers. My columns may have started as a way to get my own back, but now my editor expects them. People like reading them. They sell newspapers. DO you know how many responses those pieces get? Martha Rodgers helped build my career."

"A shame she couldn't say the same about your efforts."

"She has no one to blame for that but herself. I offered."

"What? What did you offer?"

He snapped his mouth shut, his swollen cheeks flushing with more than irritation now.

"You said you wrote those bad reviews to get your own back. For what? For turning your little 'offer' down? Let me guess, you give her good reviews in exchange for what? Money? Face time? Name dropping privileges? Or are you one of those creepy crawlies, huh, Fulton? What do you people call it? Sex for ink?"

He flushed maroon and she smirked.

"She turned you down, huh. So it makes sense that you try and ruin her career. You know I should book you on blackmail and extortion."

"You have no proof," he spat.

She wiped a fleck of spit off her hand and raised her eyebrows. "I have Martha Rodgers. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I've read enough of your reviews. I'm sure your lawyer will let me know when he arrives and we can come in and chat. After all, you weren't going to talk without him, were you?"

…

She left him there to fume and joined her team who were already dialing. They offered her a high five and she returned it with a grin. Fulton may or may not be guilty, but she played him like a lute.

She perched on the edge of Ryan's desk trying to make sense of the one-sided conversation and felt her euphoria slowly die. They might be able to confirm Fulton bought a ticket, and someone might have even seen him arrive – he was a critic after all, but no one would have kept close enough tabs on him to say whether he was still there when the show ended. That's not what she wanted. She wanted a witness to prove he wasn't there. It couldn't just be circumstantial.

She huffed and pushed off for the break room. God, she was so tired. She filled her mug and sat at the magazine littered table.

"Beckett." Ryan stuck his head around the jamb.

"Yeah?"

"I got them to fax a list of ushers and staff numbers over who worked last night, but the manager said he personally seats the VIPs."

"So he was there."

"At the start. The manager confirmed it."

"Okay, when the list comes through start calling and see if anyone had eyes on him at the end."

"Not necessary," Esposito grinned, bouncing into the room. "I got hold of the woman in charge of the ushers...what would you even call that? Anyway, she was less than forthcoming when I asked her if she had seen Fulton later in the night. So I keep pushing and it takes a while, but she fessed. Half way through the third act she went to the bathrooms to check them after the interval and restock the toilet paper and she saw Fulton alright – in all his sagging glory- with her best staff."

"So he's not our guy," Beckett sighed.

"If you want him, you can have him."

"Pass."

"You want us to let him go?"

"He wants his lawyer, let him wait."

"That's cold."

"It's either that or egg his house."

Both of them looked at her blankly but she just shook her head. That was between her and her Mom.

…

"Good Morning, Detectives."

All three turned at the expansive greeting. Complete with basket of mini muffins slung over his good arm and dressed in the same clothes he had been last night, Richard Castle, complementary visitor's badge catching the overhead lights, strode confidently through the bullpen to join their informal briefing circle.

There has to be rule about just how much bad karma one person can accumulate. What - was she a serial killer in another life? What had she done to deserve this? Really?

"Mr. Castle."

"Detective Beckett," he replied with a broad smile.

"I see you're in a better mood," she observed. "Your mother?"

"Is awake, breathing on her own and feeling like she's been hung over for a week. She kicked me out."

Beckett said nothing, had nothing to say to this man who seemed determined to be an ass in public and away from his family. Last night must have been a full moon for him.

"How's the hand?" Esposito asked, elbowing his partner who was still staring, having missed the action the night before and still a little bemused by the world famous actor standing less than four feet away.

"Still there," Castle nodded. "Speaking of, where is my sparring partner? Never did catch his name."

"Those for him?" Esposito asked.

"What? Oh no, these are for you," he slid the whicker loop down his forearm and tried to hand them to Beckett. She just stared at him. When she made no move to unfold her arms and accept them, he retracted his arm and picked one out for himself. "I got a mix, so you've got some savory, some chocolate, some fruit. I personally recommend the spinach and feta, they are amazing."

A rift from _Bad Boys _cut him off and had him groping into his back pocket with his free hand. Unfortunately, it was his bad hand and he hissed, withdrawing it quickly. He handed the basket of mini muffins to Esposito and retrieved his phone.

"Hey, Bob," he grinned, shaking his hand lightly. Purple ran up his hand from his knuckles which were red and broken. She wondered if any bruises had come up from her jab to his ribs. "Shouldn't you be in a meeting or something?" A pause. "No, she's fine and in good hands, a couple of Roy's guys are looking out for her. Yeah, I'm at the 12th now. It's really good material actually," he looked up at her but when he met her eyes looked away hurriedly, almost guiltily. "There's something I was going to ask you about actually, I think it would be perfect. Some actual experience is just what I need."

The irregular burst coming out of him made for any number of possible conversations but since he had turned away slightly, she couldn't hear Bob's replies. Whoever Bob was.

"How about over poker?" Castle said. "Roy promised me a game next week with mother if you want in, his place. Yeah? Awesome. Go and do something mayoral and earn your keep or this time next week you'll be out on the streets." He laughed. "You're the one who insisted on politics. Harsh but fair. Thanks. Next week. I'll call you."

Bob the Mayor?

Ryan's mouth had dropped again and Esposito's eyebrows had lifted, looking impressed despite himself.

Oh, please.

"Boys, review security cam footage and try and track him. Witness statements have him heading south. Get footage from the local businesses. He had to take that mask off somewhere. I'm going to head down to Mt. Sinai and get a statement from Martha."

"On it," they nodded, looking longingly at the pastries Castle offered them, but declining after glancing at her. She hadn't moved an inch towards the hamper and they followed her lead. Did she look that mean? They could eat. Just because she wasn't going to…She unfolded an arm and took up a couple of the muffins. They were still warm, and she felt her restraint waiver.

"Heads up," she called to her team.

They turned and she tossed them each a muffin which they caught with grins.

"What do you think he means by good material?" Ryan asked around a mouth of bacon, cheese and rosemary.

"How would I know?" Esposito shrugged.

…

Out of the corner of her eye she knew he was too orientated her way to be looking at anything else. She flicked her eyes off the road and sure enough he was staring. When challenged, he quickly averted his gaze and she concentrated back on the road. Her training in the Academy had made it abundantly clear that you couldn't ignore the roads in the city for longer than a few seconds without drastically increasing odds of crashing.

Which would be just what she needed right now. To crash her cruiser with Richard Castle in the passenger seat.

Eleven o'clock traffic was painful and she regretted not hitting the hospital before heading into the precinct this morning. While rush hour traffic wouldn't have been any better, she wouldn't have to share the trip.

Why was he in her front seat? Because he was a weasel and happened to mention he was heading back to the hospital about a minute after Beckett told her Captain she was going to go and get Martha's statement. Her Captain just smiled and told her to try one of the muffins – they were good. And take Castle with you.

He was staring at her again.

"What?" she asked shortly.

"Nothing." He looked at her speculatively. "You know you get a little grumpy. If it's low blood sugar you really should have had a muffin. Three words: apple and blueberry. That is a winning combination right there. They add a little cinnamon and maple," he paused to look away from her and into the middle distance. "Man, now I want one."

She ignored him and left him to his salivating. She could do this – pretend that it never happened. What happens in the hospital stays in the hospital. He was back to his usual irritating self and that was fine. Apparently only family could switch that off.

He hadn't mentioned his little crystal ball act from last night and she was relieved. The last thing she wanted to do was open the door and invite another run at the conversation he had unnerved her with. She didn't share her personal life and she didn't take kindly to being read like a book.

God, was she that obvious? Did she look like the poster girl for Cops With a Tragic Background?

How had she never picked up that he preferred to spend most of his time like a teenage boy? The interviews in magazines, books. He'd been smart and suave. In all the roles she had seen him in, how had she never picked that he was one of the least serious people she had ever met? She supposed it was because he was such a talented actor; her favourite actor. It was somewhat pathetic and childish now to resent that he had such a great talent and had been the one to move her.

Pathetic or not, she felt a little cheated.

She knew he had a reputation for being a playboy, but that could be said of a large proportion of the male race, especially those rich and famous. She thought when he stopped giving her a hard time for questioning his mother, he would just leave, or if she saw him again, he would be smooth, charming.

Not an energizer dog with a bone and no self-control. She was tempted to think that this was his default setting, but she had seen there was a more serious side to him. There was nothing childish about that. She hit another red light. Maybe he did have bipolar. Split personality?

"Can I push the siren?" he asked.

"No."

"Just once?"

"No."

"The radio? Can I radio your boys? I want to tell them to save me one of those muffins."

"No."

"You have the most gorgeous eyes."

She looked over to him sharply, irritated and trying not to look flustered. So not smooth. Get a grip. "And you sound just like the fourth graders I had in here after the school trip last month."

"Was that a complement?" When she made no reply he spoke to himself. "I'm going to take that as a compliment."

…


	12. Chapter 12

**Standard Disclaimer.**

**Here's a little Martha and friends and a longer chapter- combined two chapters and posted a little later. Sorry for those freezing up in the Northern Hemisphere.**

…

"Oh, Richard. You came back."

While Officer Simmons was still in critical condition, propped up in bed Martha Rogers looked a lifetime better than the pale, sedated woman Kate had left behind less than twelve hours ago. Still Beckett hung back when Castle breezed past, letting his feet carry him into the partitioned cubicle and drop a kiss on his mother's cheek.

"I wasn't sure I was allowed back yet," he returned easily, shifting back and staking a claim on the blankets at the foot of the bed. Alexis was camped out at the bed side, a school bag at her feet. The other chair in the room was occupied by a blonde, making for a total of four civilians inside the curtains and three police officers outside.

"Rubbish. I see you've brought Detective Beckett with you."

She took that as permission to enter.

"Couldn't keep her away," Castle grinned. "I think she likes me."

"Dad," Alexis chided.

"I'm serious. She even let me off without any charges." He sent an outrageous wink Kate's way.

"Are you sure about that, Ricky?" the blonde teased.

"Hello, Michelle; Alexis text me you had dropped in to visit. Feeling better, Mother?" he kissed each cheek of the blonde woman sitting next to Martha.

"Much better since Michelle arrived to keep me company. My monitors were about to send me in search of a drink. Alexis refused to get me one because she's still a minor."

He smiled and kissed his mother's cheeks in turn.

"And because it's illegal to drink alcohol in a hospital," Alexis sounded comically aggrieved. "I've got to get to school for my Bio test after lunch but I'll skip debating and see you at home tonight. I'll get Dad to make you cabonara."

Richard Castle cooked cabonara? Alexis slung her bag over one shoulder and slipped past the detective.

At least it sounded like Martha might be getting discharged today.

"So what have you been talking about that's brought Mother's colour back? It better not have been too naughty, my daughter was present."'

"You don't need to worry, dear. Your secrets are safe with me."

"Well that would depend on how much pain medication they have you on."

"Funny man," she sighed, starting to flag now Alexis was gone and she didn't have to keep a stiff upper lip.

"We were just reminiscing really," Michelle revealed. "Your mother was really like a mentor to me. Both Evan and I are such fans of your work. Both of you. Evan was so excited when he heard you'd been offered the part. He said he would finally have something to watch on T.V."

Who was Evan?

Wait, Castle was going to branch out into T.V? She should have been glad, but she was wondering if she was ever going to be able to watch him again without having it overshadowed by the man she had been saddled with the last two days. However, while Kate was no longer sure if she could call herself a Richard Castle fan, she was sure Michelle was fan enough for the both of them.

Kate sensed this was a woman who gossiped like a champion, though she seemed harmless enough- just leaned forward in her chair, eyes riveted on him and his mouth just waiting for the words. She sat primly enough to have been bred out of a Martha Stewart program, but she was missing the NYC housewife uniform of pearls, headband and knotted cashmere sweater. Maybe she was too young. The vibrant colours and smoky makeup were designed to attract attention by force. There was something familiar about the face and Kate was content to stand on the threshold of their conversation and flick through mental records to pin down the tugging of her subconscious.

"Yes, well. I'm still deciding."

"You're too handsome for the theatre, Ricky," Michelle almost sighed it and Kate felt her eyebrows rising. "You deserve high def T.V."

"I always told him he should have gone for the silver screen," Martha agreed.

"I decided to leave Hollywood to Meredith. NYC is my town."

"For which I'm very grateful," another man peered around the uniforms. Kate looked towards Martha and saw her eyes squint in puzzlement, probably unable to see past the oversized armful of flowers he juggled to produce I.D for the officers just behind Kate's back. "Permission to enter?"

"Evan," Castle reached out a hand. "It's been a long time."

"Too long," he agreed, pumping it. "You're looking good."

"And you. I can see you're collecting a little baggage under your eyes there. Michelle here's been keeping you busy, has she?"

"Working me to the bone, like any good wife," Evan agreed easily, smiling at Michelle. Kate observed silently, idly speculating at the relationships and dynamics of this latest visitor. Michelle had two years at most on Kate herself, yet her husband would pass easily as Martha's crush at high school. He was nearly- if not old enough to ask for a senior's discount. Can you say trophy wife boys and girls?

He was carefully made up. His pants were sharply creased and complimented his casual jacket. The elongated, square shoes were buffed and a little pretentious considering this attempt to ride a fashion trend which wasn't established yet was coupled with long strands of lank grey hair. There was no style to it. Kate could only assume the man thought it made him look more artistic; the combination of Louboutin and live-in-a-studio-apartment-with-no-shampoo. His high necked cashmere sweater didn't hide the bulge of skin cresting over the top of the wide leather belt and stretching the definition of snug.

Not an actor then.

"The play I was supposed to be directing next year has had some major casting setbacks over the last couple of days. I'm still trying to work it out. Speaking of which have you signed the contract? I hear you're signing your life over to television for fame and glory."

"I'm already famous."

The assorted actors laughed while Kate tried to keep her face from screwing up as he took her image of him and began stamping it further into the mud.

"Oh, before I forget, Martha, these are for you." Evan held out the bouquet only to stop at the IV lines restricting her movements.

"They're lovely," the pale woman smiled. The strain was beginning to show and Kate wondered at how to politely expel the others so she could get her statement before Martha had to sleep. She was a police officer, she was allowed to be the bad guy once in a while: she'd just firmly tell them they had to leave. Politely.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I really need to get Ms. Roger's statement. If you could all just leave us for ten minutes, I would appreciate it."

"Of course," Evan smiled. He put the flowers on the bedside table and his wife by the elbow. "We'll go and get a coffee. Would you like to join us, Rick?"

"Raincheck? I think I'll stay here with Mother. If that's alright with you, Detective?"

Her smile was thin and her teeth protested the increased pressure she put on them. "Of course."

Evan nodded. "It was good to see you, Rick."

"Likewise."

"If you don't throw us over for L.A, maybe I could recruit you. Michelle wants all her favorites in this one. It'll be big. World tours, you name it."

"We'll see."

…

"What play is he talking about?" Castle watched the couple walk away. Michelle's heels made her higher than her husband though her waist, from behind was almost half the size. There was enough space between them to roll a gurney through. Maybe they were anticipating a runaway bed, but Kate doubted it.

"The one you passed on," Martha closed her eyes for a minute.

"Only because Evan gave Michelle a part. I mean…she's married." That would explain the distance. He actually sounded uncomfortable. Martha opened her eyes and they were amused.

"Think of it as a compliment," she offered. "Besides, rumor is she found a spark with Tony Monroe, so you would have been safe enough."

Tony Monroe? That was the first victim.

"The producer? Is there anyone she hasn't tried to charm?" Castle sounded disgusted.

"Kristine and I always told her to use what she's got. We didn't mean it quite that literally. You know, Kristine called me the day before she died. Michelle called her. As an inside source, she told Kristine that Evan was going to give her the part. Now she's dead. That's probably the casting problem Evan was talking about."

"Sounds like it's a good thing you didn't get the part."

"Oh, but I did." Castle looked at her in surprise so she elaborated. "Not Kristine's, but a co-staring one. I didn't audition for the same role as Kristine; we thought it would be fun to play sisters. We would have been great- I haven't had that much fun at an audition in years." Her eyes closed and her face was bitter. "Now she's gone I'm going to turn down the role."

"You never told me you were going to be working together again."

"Well we didn't know and then Kristine was..." Martha didn't bother finishing her sentence.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but did you say Tony Munroe?" Beckett asked.

"Yes," Martha looked old and tired against the rough white sheets as she obviously thought about her friend. "Michelle was devastated when his apartment was broken into. It was so hard for her. She went to the memorial with Evan but of course Evan didn't know about her affair. She had to sit through the night like she had never been more than an acquaintance. Took a special sort of acting if you ask me."

"And you said Michelle was also offered a part in the play you mentioned, with you and Kristine?"

"Yes. Evan worked some magic there I dare say."

Three women in one show. Two attacked or killed, the third having an affair with another of the victims – the victim who Kate was sure would have been producing said show.

"Do you remember who the producer was going to be?" Beckett asked; putting her agenda of taking Martha's statement on the backburner as trails of thought began to lay out a web.

"I don't remember. Isn't that terrible? I think I'm getting old."

"Nonsense, Mother," Castle dissuaded her, but his eyes had a speculative look in them she imagined she shared. She had found the connection between her victims, alive and dead. That show. Not one in the past. The one in the future.

Michelle McKinnon.

…

Kate came in for a statement and came out with a possible lead. Her mind was clicking over throwing out possible avenues even before she excused herself. If she was less than focused on her goodbyes, Martha, who, despite her efforts, was clearly already more than half ready to drop, made no mention. Head wounds really took it out of you, a fact Kate knew from experience. It was quite a knock for a woman in her sixties.

The blinks came more often and slower, the occasional wince turned into set lines around her eyes which were narrowed against the glaring white of the long room, but her cheer had not faded. Martha Rogers had gumption and Kate was struck again that her witness was Martha Rogers. The Martha Rogers.

Maybe when this was all over, she could actually get that talk she had always dreamed of, and this time not about the man who had assaulted her and shot Officer Simmons – a sight the actress had seen and recounted with more shock than hysterics.

Martha's current part, another Granny, died half way through the second act. According to her, usually she would stay and celebrate and mix with her colleagues, but Castle had convinced her to come home early. She had been in her dressing room getting changed and heard a scuffle out in the corridor. Curious, she opened her door as the shot went off. She screamed and tried to close the door, not clearly seeing the gunman.

Her door was forced open, despite her leaning her thin weight on it, forcing her off balance over the makeup chair to the floor. Martha got the impression of big but not of muscle mass. Dark jeans and a black turtleneck. The gloved and masked man had taken her by the throat when she went for another cry and slammed her head against the floor before retreating at the sound of the first responders to the gunshot.

A little drugged as Martha recounted this thanks to a young nurse on her rounds, Martha had smiled and said her attacker had very shiny shoes. And long. She then complimented Kate on her shiny eyes. Kate blushed but still kept the shiny long shoes in mind.

Masked so someone she knew, and someone who could have been recognized at the theatre by anyone who saw him enter the room. He was stepping it up, attacking in public, resorting to a mask.

Big guy with long shiny shoes. There were several candidates that she could think of if she just thought big. Fans, actors. The critic, Grant Fulton – _The Grand_, wasn't exactly small either.

The shoes might prove to be more useful.

And big, overweight didn't sound like a contract hit, so she could stop the guys looking for suspicious payouts in the financials and focus on finding this guy in any surveillance they could.

She nodded to Martha's detail and made her way back up the corridor, not even minding for once the snapping staccato of her boot heels – she loved them, but she felt self-conscious in hospitals at disturbing the peace and time for patients to be with their families, maybe for the last time.

There were soft footfalls behind her when she stopped in front of the elevator. She called it and it dinged readily, waiting for passengers. The footfalls sped up and she turned to see if they were trying to catch the ride down as well. She almost groaned when she saw it was Castle.

Did the elbow to his ribs not teach him anything?

"Back to the station?" He gestured her ahead of him when the elevator doors started to slide closed.

She nodded, watching him out of the corner of her eye as they took up their positions. She didn't bother to hit the button to open the doors and he slipped in with a twist of his shoulders just as they closed fully – a fact he seemed happy about. She wondered if in his head he was likening himself to Indiana Jones. He swung his hands almost childishly at his side and watched the lighted display indicating their decent.

"You?" she asked.

"I'm on a coffee run," he grinned.

Martha looked ready to pass out after giving her statement, but Richard Castle looked like he could use a cup despite his bouncing energy. Between the stubble and the slightly bleary eyes he looked ready to sleep as soon as his current high crashed.

"Can I get you a cup?" he offered. "It's the least I can do."

"That won't be necessary," she demurred. The last thing she needed right now was for Richard Castle to high jack her attention and twist her around any further.

"Come on. I've got some questions for you."

"Questions?" she felt the elevator slow and touch down. She had hoped to detour past the hospital cafeteria and see if she could catch up with Michelle before heading back to the precinct, but she hadn't figured on having a shadow. Especially one who had the restraint of a teenage boy.

"It's not what it sounds like, I promise." He took her hand and started to lead her down towards the dining hall. His hand was big. She was tall and her hands weren't small, but his swallowed hers easily, wrapping around them with room to spare. The warmth from them flushed through her chest to her ears until she thought she must be red with shock.

Richard Castle was holding her hand.

Richard Castle had completely ignored the 'leave me the hell alone' signals she sent out and took her hand like it was the easiest thing in the world.

She planted her heels and locked her shoulder, using his forward momentum to pull her hand free from his. She didn't care if she had watched over a hundred hours of his performances; he was not going to hold her hand. He turned to look back at her, surprised her hand was no longer in his and probably surprised she had pulled away at all. He recovered fairly quickly.

"If I tell you I'm planning on robbing the coffee stall, will you come with me to the cafeteria?"

Her eyebrows just rose higher.

"Oh. You're a homicide detective, right? If I tell you I'm going to hold them up for all the coffee I can drink and then shoot the manager would you come?"

She didn't smile. "You do know I'm wearing a gun."

"Come on, that was a little funny."

"Not to me. People are dead. I have work to do."

She pushed past him, hating that she had to go to the cafeteria anyway and talk to Michelle about her connection to the victims: her two mentors and her not-so-secret lover. She felt him following.

"What's your next step? You want to talk to Michelle right?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Since you shot my coffee offering down, but are going to the cafeteria instead of going back to the precinct with my mother's statement," he pointed out. His legs didn't seem at all taxed keeping up with her. "I have to concur you're looking for Michelle. Her lover was murdered. Surely you'd want to ask her some questions about the days leading up to that. Statistics do say that the number of murders committed by someone in an affair against their partner…"

She ignored him and waited for the automatic doors to slide back and permit her entry to the labyrinth of small uncomfortable tables. There was a coffee machine, put a coin in and chance a cup, just inside the door. It was of similar design to those found throughout the hospital. In the corner there was a small coffee stall manned by a middle aged woman just as Castle had predicted and he bee-lined for it. If Michelle was here with Evan, they would go for that over the machine made sludge.

Kate followed in Castle's wake, searching the tables for the blonde woman and her husband. She didn't see either of them.

"And what ever she wants," she heard, in the background.

Kate didn't see any sign of either of them and bit back a sigh of frustration. With money like theirs of course they weren't going to get coffee here. They were probably blocks away in a café with a spiced pumpkin latte.

"Detective."

She made another sweep of the room and still came up empty.

"Detective Beckett!"

It was loud and heads were turning all over the room. She turned on the actor who had given her up and glared at him. The intensity racketed up a notch when his cheer remained uncompromised.

"What'll you have? They don't have much: flat white, black, latte, mochachino or hot chocolate." He waited, then shrugged, turning back to the vendor with a smile. "Make it a flat white."

She turned on her heel and almost made it to the door before he caught her. "I have a piece of information you might find very interesting. My price is a cup of coffee. So you can choose a seat and sit in it while I fill you in, or you can leave."

She shrugged his hand off her shoulder and ignored the warmth of his breath down the side of her neck. "Or maybe I could just arrest you for interference with a criminal case."

"Maybe," he acknowledged. "But you won't get your information that way. Take a seat and let me buy you a coffee; I'm counting on you to keep my mother safe and you look dead on your feet."

…

"So?" The cups hadn't even touched the tabletop of the secluded spot she had chosen, out of earshot of everyone now staring at her, the cop and him, the nosy actor.

Thankfully he was forthcoming, cupping his hands around the cardboard cup. "Fulton."

"The critic?"

"He wears the most ridiculous shiny, pointed boots and shoes. He probably likes them because the nose is shaped like a coffin. The guy loves to kill actor's careers and stamp on cheer and pride."

"That is thin."

"He is also longtime friends with Evan so has a hand in all his casting decisions. I imagine he was less than thrilled with Evan's decision to hire Mother and Kristine."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but Fulton has an alibi. We checked. He was at dinner with his wife in Midtown. Now what is the real reason you manipulated me here?"

He didn't bother to deny it but didn't answer either. "Aren't you going to drink that?"

"After you."

"Are you kidding? No one drinks hospital coffee."

"I don't have time for this," she scooted her chair back and made to stand.

"What would you say to working this case together?" he asked and she froze, not sure she heard him right. A civilian offering to just waltz in on a case thinking that he was going to be any help at all? "Hear me out. I know you want to talk to Michelle and I can set that up for you."

"I am more than capable of arranging a meeting and I'm sure she's more than happy to answer any questions I have."

"She would be more likely to open up if there was a familiar face there."

"Wrong. She's more likely to hide the truth out of guilt or shame. So thanks, but no thanks."

"But I have more connections in that world if Michelle gave other names to check out."

"I can question anyone, Mr. Castle. That's what the badge is for."

"I was really hoping you were going to go for that idea."

"Yeah, well. Sorry."

"For two reasons. The first, despite the pleasure of your company, I want to find who did this to my mother. Second, I'm meeting Michelle for lunch at H&H in," he looked down at his phone. "twenty four minutes."


	13. Chapter 13

**Standard Disclaimer.**

"Ricky! I thought you were going to stand me up. Martha's fine I hope."

The store wasn't large but was comfortable enough to avoid the cramped feel prevalent in many of the smaller eateries. They must have beaten the lunch rush, but there was a steady ebb and flow of customers smart enough to knock off a little earlier and beat the crowds.

Michelle sat facing the window, angled strategically so that anyone coming in through the door would immediately catch her. Red platform pumps lengthened her crossed legs and the way she turned her head to the light tossed up defining shadows on her calves as well as her cheekbones. It was too careful to be natural. Beckett wondered if Michelle had come from a background in modeling in order to be so conscious of the light.

Her husband was nowhere in sight.

Castle moved out of the entrance way towards her. "Sure. She was out like a light when we left."

At the word 'we' Michelle made as if to notice Kate for the first time. Kate read people well enough to know that she had been conscious of her the moment she had walked in a step behind Rick. Even if she didn't make a living out of cracking criminals, it wouldn't have been too hard to tell; Michelle wasn't nearly as convincing an actress as the two older women she had called her mentors.

"Michelle, I'm Detective Beckett."

"Beckett. I'm sorry I didn't catch your name at the hospital. Please, sit down. The bagels here are amazing. Whenever I have a carb craving I think about this place and I just can't resist coming on down here."

"Salmon for you?" Castle asked.

"Hold the mayo," she winked.

"Of course," he smiled and headed to the counter to place the orders.

"You and …Rick seem to know each other pretty well," Kate observed, pulling out a chair, figuring she'd ease into the conversation and let her fellow woman get a good steam of gossip up.

"Not like that. Not that I haven't tried," she tinkled out a light laugh. "I was Meredith's friend. His ex-wife."

"Ah," Kate nodded.

"Though I think Martha tried to set us up once. I think it was New Year's about a year after he ended it with Meredith. I'm not really sure about it, I might have had a little too much champagne but I do remember it wasn't me he was kissing to Auld Lang Syne. I wasn't too happy about that. All the work I put in to land the white whale and he kisses his daughter."

Okay.

"She was so shy then, nothing like her Gran and a world away from Meredith. Rick had to put her on his toes to dance her around, grumbling about how his feet were swelling. Not that he meant it- he's such a softie. But I'm sure you know that already."

"What's swollen?" Castle asked, a metal order card twirling idly around his fingers.

"Your feet after dancing with Alexis at New Year's when you hosted. You remember that Ricky?"

"Sure," he gave a genuine smile, his face light at the memory. "That would be the party you met Evan. You gave him quite the New Year's kiss." He sat next to Kate, reminding her of interrogation style. No, she scolded herself. He was not working with her.

"You had your chance." The look Michelle shot him was coy, and Kate couldn't help but think that she didn't seem that devastated by her lover's death if she was already lining up another. She seemed to be embracing her second chance to land the _white whale_.

He held up his hands with a grin.

Starting to feel a little nauseous.

"Michelle, I actually have a few questions for you."

"For me?" her surprise was a little forced, but innocent enough.

"How well did you know Tony Monroe?" My first victim and your home away from home.

"He's a producer. Was. He and Evan worked together on a lot of projects." The sad smile Michelle procured was restrained. "Evan used to say Tony was like the son he never had."

"And you?" Beckett pressed, aware she hadn't disclosed her feelings towards the producer.

"He was a great man," Michelle said succinctly. "I wanted to work with him."

That wasn't good enough.

"Really?" Beckett let her disbelief taint the syllable.

Michelle didn't miss it and her eyes darted to Castle in alarm and begging for support.

"He didn't tell me," Beckett told her. "I'm going to ask you again. How well did you know Tony Monroe?"

Michelle sighed. "In the Biblical sense, as I see you already know."

Kate didn't rise to that. Playing witnesses off against each other was for rookies.

"Tell me about your relationship, Michelle," she prompted.

"We'd been together almost a year. Evan invited him to our Thanksgiving but I had drinks with some girlfriends later that night and we shared a cab…"

"How was he in the days before his apartment was broken into?"

"I don't know. I didn't see him that week but he sounded fine on the phone," her face creased. "He said he missed me and had booked us a deluxe suite."

"Did your husband, Evan know?"

"No. No one knew."

"Well someone did. Was Mr. Monroe the only affair you had?"

Michelle's face mottled in insult and reply was clipped. "Yes, Detective, I had an affair with Mr. Monroe, but he was the only one. Despite what you may think, I don't make a habit of cheating on my husband. Our marriage is one of convenience, but until Tony I never went past some flirting. It's just part of the job."

Castle had leaned back, tense in his chair.

"I appreciate your honesty, Michelle. But could you tell me where you and your husband were the night Tony died?"

…

"The Mercer. She says Monroe booked a deluxe suite there and was there from 8pm until 1am waiting for him. Ask the staff and check the security footage. TOD is ball parked at 9, so see if we can alibi her out. She says her husband was at home but I want you to run him anyway. All of it. Thanks. I'll be back in 30."

Beckett disconnected and went to but her phone in pocket but her elbow knocked against Castle who had followed her out and was almost close enough to be brushing hips.

"She didn't do it," Castle stated.

"And you know that for a fact do you?"

"Please. She wouldn't even know where the safety was on a gun or how to load the chamber. She's shameless but also blameless."

Kate felt her eyebrows rise. "And here I was thinking you two were so close."

He scoffed. "Hardly. She's been trying to get me since Alexis was in kindergarten."

This was more than she ever wanted to know about the actor.

"We will check her alibi either way. I appreciate you setting this up, but now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work."

He caught her elbow and she shivered. He probably had hit some nerves. "Wait! What about Evan?"

"Mr. Castle."

"I can get you in to talk to Evan now."

She pulled her elbow out of the cradle of his palm. "So can I, but until we check his alibi Michelle gave us, I don't need to."

"So that's it?" he sounded disbelieving.

"There are procedures. Protocols. If we find anything we will bring him in for questioning, get a warrant."

"He's your top suspect now, isn't he?" He watched her intently, but she refused to be goaded.

"He has motive for killing Tony, assuming he even knew his wife was sleeping with him, but what is his motive for killing Kristine?"

"He put my mother in the hospital and had the nerve to visit with flowers," Castle hissed.

"Can you prove that?" Beckett shot back smoothly.

He glared at her. "Shoes. Long, square, shiny shoes. He wears them, just like Mother's attacker."

"At the moment that is just a coincidence," she told him firmly. "An hour ago you were telling me Grant Fulton wore those shoes. Now let me go back to my team and get something concrete."

He was clearly trying to control himself. "I want to help."

"I'm sorry Mr. Castle," she told him softly. "I really am, but you can't."

"Is it because I'm not a cop? Because that isn't going to stop me if he was the one who hurt her."

Kate recognized the dangerous black in his eyes. "Stay away from him," she warned. "Stay away or I will arrest you for interference."

"You can't be serious," he protested.

"If he killed those people and hurt Martha, I want him just as badly as you do. I will not have you throwing away their chance at justice. Keep away from him and let us do our job."

…

"Yo, Beckett. So we checked the alibi the wife gave us, and it's bogus."

"What?"

"Not hers," Ryan clarified. "Security and hotel staff put her at the Mercer during our window for time of death. But looks like her husband didn't tell her everything either. She told you that he was supposed to be at a counselor for stress, but we called to confirm and he hasn't had an appointment in two weeks."

"So where was he?"

"We don't know. There's no activity in his credit cards during the period."

"So maybe he was at home."

"No go," Esposito supplied. "We've got apartment surveillance of him leaving in his Benz just after his wife and getting back at 9.54."

"Okay, that's more than enough time to get to Monroe's apartment, shoot him and make it back to his place by 9.54. The question is, was he just lying to his wife about where he was going? We can't place him at Monroe's apartment."

"What? You think he could have someone else on the side?"

"His wife did. Maybe he has an alibi, just not the one his wife thinks he has."

"So what do you want us to do?" Ryan asked.

"Try and get a warrant for a DNA sample, so we can see if he matches the DNA from the hair left at the scene. Esposito, get a hold of the wife and try to get his alibi for the O'Connor murder just in case." She huffed out a breath. "I get him maybe wanting Monroe dead for sleeping with his wife, but why Kristine O'Connor?" she shook her head. "Anyway, I'll try and talk to the counselor Evan has been seeing. If he has been having regular appointments, the Doc. might know if he's crazy enough to kill."

The boys wheeled their chairs back to their desks, back to the database and to pull up the template for a warrant. Depending on the judge, she knew it was a long shot, but she was running out of time. The look on Castle's face when she told him to back off the case kept coming back to her whenever she looked at her murder board and saw Martha's picture, so red against the white. No, Richard Castle wasn't going to be able to sit still unless she delivered him some results, and soon. He was too much of a teenager to sit still.


	14. Chapter 14

**Standard Disclaimer.**

..

The warrant came through and she made the choice to drive uptown and collect Evan and serve it in person, the same way she had visited Martha. She figured he would be more agreeable if they came to him and offered him a ride in an undercover, rather than sending out some uniforms to track him down.

Evan McKinnon was high profile enough that she nixed the bulletproof vests. She pulled her Crown Vic into a spot just behind the valet drop off section of pavement outside Evan's building and waited until she saw Ryan and Esposito's car slide around the corner and pull in behind. When she saw them parked, her eyes drifted in the rear view mirror from their car in the background to her own face in the fore. She took in the frown lines and the crease between her brows and forced herself to relax.

They had a warrant for Evan's DNA, and were just bringing him in for questioning on Monroe's murder. He would object, he would bluster, but for his reputation, he would come. If he refused, she would put cuffs on him and drag him in. If he was innocent – which she privately doubted- he wouldn't even mind that much. Any publicity is good publicity, right?

Nothing to worry about. She was just so tired.

She took a deep breath and stepped out of the car after making sure her identifying NYPD pass was on clear display on the dash. A quick slide of her fingers down her hips reassured her when she felt the cold of her badge and her Glock on opposite sides of her body. Tucked into the holster she had an extra clip which helped settle the tense ache in her stomach which was starting to cramp her abdominals. A comforting weight, like she imagined the weight of a loved one around her stomach.

The boys came up to flank her, each of them performing their own last checks; cuffs, weapon, badge, cell. Car keys.

"Okay," she sighed. "Let's make this as quick and quiet as we can. The last thing we need is a media fair on this."

They both nodded.

"And remember, he's on some pretty strong prescription drugs. He was fine when I saw him this morning, but try not to provoke him."

_"I understand your patient confidentiality responsibilities, but I also know they are compromised when you suspect that your client may harm himself or others."_

_"Detective Beckett, unless you get a warrant, I can't share anything."_

_"I have a warrant already being processed. I'm just trying to help."_

_"And I would very much like to be a part of that, but…"_

_"So answer some questions, please. What was Mr. McKinnon discussing during his sessions with you? His wife, Michelle, said he was stressed."_

_"Yes, he was seeing me for stress, okay? Most of my clients have stress related issues. Evan McKinnon has a very high demand job as a director."_

_"Was that all he was stressed about? Did he ever talk to you about any relationship problems?"_

_"We discussed some of his work relationships in regards to making a healthier environment."_

_"What about with his wife. Did he mention the affair his wife was having?"_

_"I take it she told you about that," he sighed. "Yes. He found out a month ago. He said a colleague of his from LA was in for the weekend and saw them together at the Savoy. He said he never found out who the man she was having the affair with was."_

_"Do you think he was telling the truth?"_

_"Yes. No. I'm a counselor, not a full psychiatrist and I can't read minds. He was understandably upset and jealous, but that was amplified by his stress. He's been taking liberties with the dosage since he found out so I suggested he cut back to the recommended prescriptions, wait until he felt better and maybe try and talk about it with his wife."_

_"What prescriptions?"_

_"I won't release full details until I see that warrant."_

_"I appreciate that, Sir I do, but could you perhaps let me know what class of medication he is using?"_

_"He was on anti-depressants" the huff came off as static. "Sleeping meds, pain meds for migraines..."_

_"Sir, does the name Tony Monroe mean anything to you?" _

_"It sounds vaguely familiar."_

_"Can you remember what capacity you heard it in?"_

_"No," the slow intake of breath was resigned. "But I can check my notes. Would you like to hold or will you call back?"_

_"I'll hold."_

She took the lead, showing her badge to the doorman and continuing on without pause. It meant she had to clip on her badge again in time to get the door for herself, but she didn't want to get caught on the street and lose time justifying their presence. The doorman could have told them if Evan McKinnon was currently at home, but considering the high end nature of the apartment building, the doorman was more likely to call up to the apartment and give Evan a heads up. If he was there.

Kate couldn't risk him doing that, so she got the door herself. The bronze gilded wood moved easily under her hand. She had always thought the job of a doorman must really get to your arm muscles, but with a door like this, the hardest part of the day would have to be the standing or putting up with the self-indulgent, overbred women who lived here and needed a door like that, just so they could actually push it open without having to appear as though they were putting any effort into it.

Okay, that was a little harsh. But she was still sore about having to get the door for an elderly woman in her tenant building who had been completely ungrateful, arrogant and had dropped two bags of tinned cat food on her foot.

They were clearly not the clientele the building was used to, not dressed up or subtly rich enough to be residents or family, but also not in uniform for gas, T.V or any other domestic services. Takeout? She had a hard time thinking the people who lived here sprang for pizza or dialed Mr. Wong's. The stares that followed them were uncomfortable, but she threw them off, only thinking for a second that it was a good thing Esposito had traded in his favourite shot gun for his service piece this time.

Then again it might have been entertaining to watch.

Ryan hit the call button and she briefly envied the prompt car service. True, she preferred to take the stairs; it was only a flight, but whenever she had luggage she had to wait a good minute before the doors opened for her. She mentally told herself to get over it. Her apartment was fine. At least she didn't live with a suspected killer –not that she was aware of. They stepped inside, looking grim enough that no one else tried to ride with them. She let the doors closed at pressed for the 11th floor.

_"Are you still there?" _

_"Yes, I'm still here."_

_"Mr. McKinnon only mentioned a Tony Monroe once. At the beginning of January he said Monroe was a producer he was going to be working with next year." _

_"Was that all?"_

_"He said Monroe was pushing the board to fire him. I said he might be a little sensitive and to give it some time, but he never made another appointment."_

_"Monroe wanted Evan fired." Kate repeated. _

_"I offered to talk to him about it, because he was clearly angry, but he didn't want to share. I already told this to the detective who I spoke to earlier."_

_"Just how angry?"_

_"Detective," he protested. _

_"Tony Monroe was murdered less than a week after that appointment, so I'll ask again, how angry?"_

_"Oh God."_

_That justifies a DNA test alright. _

_"What about Kristine O'Connor?"_

_"The actress?" he sounded shaken. "Evan never mentioned her."_

Kate took the left fork after they flowed silently from the elevator. The higher they went up the larger the apartments became and the fewer there were on any given floor. From a designer's point of view it might not have been the best use of space, but here nestled in the Upper East Side, there wasn't a shortage of people willing to pay for the privilege of space in New York City.

It wasn't a penthouse, but she was sure between Michelle and her husband, the only apartment down this corridor, would be every bit as luxurious. The door was a creamy white with bronze fittings, almost delicate looking and deceptive in the extreme. It was a high end lock and was sure to have more security on the other side. Kicking this puppy in was going to be painful.

Esposito and Ryan formed in behind her, unconsciously falling to either side and dropping their hands to the butts of their service pieces. She glanced once at either of them and they nodded. They might not have been a team too long but she knew she trusted them to do their job.

She raised her hand and knocked. "Evan McKinnon, NYPD."

They all waited, breathing silently. There was no sign of movement behind the door, no sound of footsteps from either of the residents. Were they not home? Did they just have very plush carpet?

"Wait, did you hear that?" Esposito asked, ear close to the lock. "I think I can hear music."

"NYPD, open up," Ryan used his fist, competing with any background noise.

A crash of a door within the apartment won out and Kate tested the door handle. She really didn't want to have to kick this in unless she had to.

…


	15. Chapter 15

**Standard disclaimer. **

**Not long to go now; I think the next one will be the last, so thanks for reading. **

**I'm a little unsure as to how realistic this one is, so let me know so I don't make the same mistakes next time. **

They spread out.

The door had glided in as easily as the front door downstairs and all three exchanged a glance before drawing their weapons in unison. In her experience, high end apartments were not left unlocked and there shouldn't be a door slamming. That sounded like rabbiting.

She took the middle and they took the sides, weapons drawn, crouched in minimal exposure positions, clearing the side rooms off the main entranceway. They locked and dead bolted the door behind them. It wasn't protocol, but the place was big enough she needed both of them to help her clear it. Maybe she was just still on edge, but she didn't want to lose one of them babysitting the door. They would just have to hope they found Evan before he could slip in behind them and get out the door.

Coming in low, both Ryan and Esposito cleared two rooms before they heard another sound coming from the back.

Evan and Michelle McKinnon had indeed pimped out their apartment with lush carpeting to warm what Kate had to assume would otherwise be concrete flooring. They moved silently, sinking into the white wool blanketing the floors. They moved through a sitting room and took in two glasses of wine on the table, one almost empty and the other barely touched. A visitor perhaps? She couldn't imagine either of the residents abstaining in their own home.

There was a louder thump now, a shuddering of weight against a door and she honed in on it, gesturing for the boys to follow when the apartment was clear. She traced scuffling noises to a paneled door at the back of the apartment. She paused outside to set her shoulders in breaching position and could feel the colder temperature on the wood stretch out to her cheek. A glance at her feet, showed the carpet ended neatly and gave way to bleached glossy tile. A bathroom then. At least she had a better idea of the floor plan.

"NYPD," she called. "Is everything alright?"

The voice that broke the silence was terse, but easily recognizable as Evan's. "Of course. Could you give me a minute to, ah, clean up a little?"

"Mr. McKinnon, is that you?" she confirmed, speaking loudly enough for Ryan and Esposito to hear.

There was a short moment of silence before she heard a short grunt of exertion and sharp rustling.

"Shit," he cried.

The heaving labor of breaths practically clawed out, tugging groans from vocal chords Sounds of hard shoe soles on tiles started up again as well as a sound she knew well enough to recognize as bone on bone.

"You son of a." Kate heard the second panting exclamation, filled with fury and felt her stomach drop. It couldn't be. But it wasn't McKinnon. She knew that voice.

There was a crash of glass practically on her eardrum and she reeled away from the door. She tried the handle, but this one was locked. The carpet didn't give her an ideal even surface to balance on but she raised her heel and drove it into the door just over the locking mechanism. The shock of the thick timber connecting with the block heel of her boots reverberated sharply through her leg, rattling her knee unpleasantly. However, while the door was quality pine and over an inch thick, the lock wasn't of equal caliber and the door crashed open, abruptly scraping over the shards of glass and scattered toothbrushes in its way.

The full length mirror had her seeing double and for a dizzying moment, she thought there were four men in the spacious guest bathroom. Her crude entry seemed to shock both of them as much as her vision did her and they both froze, allowing her eyes to adjust and fully register the sight in front of her.

She recognized both of the men; the one choking and the one being choked slowly by the collar hold.

"Castle?" she ground out.

"Detective Beckett?" he blurted, surprised. She watched the angry lines slowly fall away from his face and his grip on Evan's crinkled oxford relax. "What are you…?"

"What am _I_ doing here?" Beckett exclaimed anticipating him furiously.

"What are you doing here?" Esposito finished for her, arriving with Ryan, the gust of air kicked up by their entrance pulled at the long tails of her winter jacket.

"What are any of you doing here?" Evan choked, running one hand over his throat while the other grasped for leverage at the sink behind him. "This is my house. So unless you're here to arrest him for assault, get out."

"Please," Castle scoffed. "You're the one who ran in on me. Is running from the NYPD a habit of yours?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Like you don't know! You put my mother in the hospital!" Castle reached for him again, but the hand Evan had been using as leverage on the marble sink and counter snaked forward from behind his back.

"Gun!" Ryan cried.

All three officers raised their weapons but Evan snuck in behind Castle, forcing him a step forward in order to fit his bulk safely behind him and out of sight in the corner. The only thing they could see around Castle's wide shoulders was the barrel jammed under Castle's throat and one dark roving eye surrounded by sagging wrinkled pink flesh. The movement was erratic, practically scratching at the décor as it climbed the walls, searching for a way out.

"Put the gun down, Evan," she told him evenly. "Put it down and we can just talk about this."

"You think I'm stupid? I'm not crazy."

"Here I was thinking you were going to use that as your ticket out," Castle muttered.

"Shut it," Evan hissed, pulling at Castle's jacket roughly, bringing his ear down to an easy level. "You deserve it."

"For what?" Castle asked.

"You had your chance. They want you for the lead in a new series, don't they? That's years of full time. You'll be set for life. Michelle can't stop talking about it."

"So you're going to shoot me?" Castle asked incredulously. "Because I'm going to be more famous than you? Newsflash for you, Evan, but I surpassed you a long time ago."

Evan snarled, pushing the gun tighter against the stubble on Castle's throat, until the skin paled and depressed. "Don't push me."

"Castle, you are not helping," Kate ground out.

Beside her, the boys were still keeping their sights locked on the two men while they tried to find a possible shot. She didn't need to look at them to know they hadn't found one. There wasn't one. Evan had successfully sandwiched himself into a tight corner.

Castle ignored her and goaded Evan further. "Is that why you killed Kristine? Because she was more famous than you?"

Kate held her breath. They hadn't tied Evan to the second murder yet- couldn't find a motive.

"She deserved it. They all deserved it."

"Really? I get Tony, I do. He was going to fire you. He was sleeping with Michelle. When Meredith cheated on me I was in a bad place. Tony was taking Michelle away from you, right? But who knew you actually cared? We all thought you only married her for the arm candy. God knows she can't act," Castle actually huffed out a laugh. "And you still got her a part."

Kate silently slid the safety off; counting on Evan's aggravated pants to drown out the small click. So Castle had gotten hold of the counselor as well. He must have called and gotten over here while she waited for the warrant to come through.

"You know what I don't get? How could you be so stupid to keep going? I mean Kristine and Martha? They don't have anything to do with Tony. They're in different circles. Tony had to be thirty years younger than you and mother. Isn't that why Michelle liked him? I'm just surprised you didn't just kill Michelle and leave it at that. Or would that have been too obvious?"

"Too good for that bitch. I bet she would have loved to join Tony on the other side. Well, she can wait," Evan grated, pushing Castle a step forward. "Get back. You're going to let me out of here and give me an hour or Mr. T.V star here gets his brains blown out."

"That's not going to happen, Evan," Kate told him evenly. "Let him go."

"Don't kid yourself, Evan. You could never let it go now. You're on a roll, right. Were you going to keep going until everyone who you shortlisted for that play were dead? Were you going to punish them?"

"Shut up. She needed to pay. I loved her, and what does she do? Huh? She loved them more than me. Her beloved 'mentors'. Her producer bed-mate. He was like a son to me!"

Despite his agitation, he never ventured into the range of a safe shot. She had to shut this down. It was a miracle he hadn't snapped and shot Castle yet.

"It's over, Evan."

"It's not over! Now drop your weapons or I swear to God I'll blow his…"

He never finished his sentence. Castle slouched and threw his head back, connecting with the side of the slightly shorter man's face. They both cried out, but Castle kept moving, spinning an elbow into the side of Evan's face and dragging the gun free with his other hand when Evan collapsed to the floor.

Her weapon dropped in time with her mouth. In her peripheral she saw the guns on her either side lower as well.

What just happened?

Castle turned to them, shucking the gun into the air and catching it neatly, stowing it neatly in the back of his waistband. He glanced down at Evan crumpled and dazed on the floor with contempt and stepped away, straightening his jacket.

Internally she felt a small part of her mind give out an embarrassing fan squeal. Then the rest of her mind shut it down.

He seemed to snap out of it at the same time, his eyes widening at the three armed police officers in the door way. He looked from them to Evan and then back, blinking. "Did you see that?" he exclaimed, his face childishly light and shocked like he had just seen a lion swallow an antelope in one go.

He stepped towards them, twisting out of the way when Ryan and Esposito finally entered the room to collar their killer. He reached her, still awed and she couldn't stop herself putting both her palms to his chest and shoving him into the door.

"What the hell were you thinking? You could have gotten yourself killed!"

His face flickered for a second, but then the power came back on full force. "The safety was on the whole time." He handed over the gun and she bit her tongue.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Ryan asked exasperatedly.

"Where's the fun in that?" Castle protested.

"Fun?" Beckett asked.

"So did you get everything you needed?" he was almost bouncing in spot.

She turned and headed out without comment but behind her she heard Esposito whisper. "We got it. That was awesome, bro."

"I know, right!"

…


	16. Chapter 16

**Standard Disclaimer. **

**Here it is, the last one. I am working on another one though, mostly Caskett fluff - a sequel to my story ****_Roving Heat_****. I'll adda spolier at the end for you check out.**

**I would love a comment now this one is wrapped up.**

**Thanks to everyone who has left a review, especially the two or three that commented everytime - you know who you are. **

**Enjoy.**

"His lawyer wants to push for the psychiatric evaluation," Beckett looked at her Captain as much as the man she left cuffed to the chair behind the glass. She kept it short knowing Montgomery had heard this story every which way. Also possibly out of spite, that Richard Castle had avoided charges and had weaseled his way into observation.

The man had impersonated a police officer and interrogated Evan's counselor. How did he get away with it? It's not like he could walk on water. Civilians were not supposed to be privy to this kind of information.

"Is that going to work?" Castle asked, eyes volleying between the detective and Roy. She looked back at him, remaining silent until Montgomery gave a round about circle of his finger.

"The warrant came through and we got his counselor's notes as well as found the list of medications Evan was on. Our M.E took a quick look, but said that none of them were likely to enhance any violent or psychotic tendencies enough to support insanity. Even if he went off the anti-stress and anti-depressants, he wouldn't be any more dangerous than he would be normally."

"It sounds crazy enough to me," Montgomery shrugged. "Killing his wife's favourite actors and coworkers just to get back at her for cheating on him? Looks like he just snapped."

"His attacks were planned and spread out. That shows intent." Castle was staring at Evan. One shoulder was leaned casually against the two way mirror frame, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and one leg resting in front of the other. His body language looked comfortable enough but from the raised bumps in his pockets, she knew his hands were curled into fists.

The intent light in his face surprised her. This time it wasn't worry for his mother or anger, it was a keen intelligence. He was studying the man he knew, clearly trying to puzzle out the man's frame of mind; the motivations, the story. It was a side of him she had given up seeing off the stage and to see it now, her heart trembled a little: This was Richard Castle. The Richard Castle.

"We're matching his DNA sample to the hair on scene now. Ballistics say his gun is a match for the murder weapon and to the slug they pulled out of Officer Simmons."

"Good work, Detective," Montgomery broke the silence. "Start the processing."

"Yes, Sir."

She turned for the door, eager to get the paperwork started so she could head home, but she wanted to get one last glance at the man who had made such a difference in her life; one last glance of the man, to tide her through the memories of how annoying he had been. Her chin hadn't even lined up above her shoulder when she saw the shape of him move right behind her.

Her step faltered and he strode right into her back, his hands coming up to her shoulders to steady himself when his leg got caught between her own.

"Sorry," he breathed, righting himself. "You can't just stop in the middle of a doorway, Detective."

She just stared at him. Over his shoulder she saw Montgomery fighting a small smile and felt her eyes narrow. Assuming she was glaring at him, Castle held up both hands. "It's a well-known fact. If you stop there, no one can get in or out. It kinds of defeats the purpose of having a door."

"My bad." She offered him a tight, closed lip smile, her molars in full contact. "I guess this is it. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Castle."

"Detective," he smiled broadly, taking her hand.

She looked up into his eyes, feeling off balance. What was he doing? He increased the pressure around her fingers and drew her towards him. She saw his head dip and felt the brush of something warm and soft in the hollow of her cheek.

She knew her mouth had just dropped open, saw it in the self-satisfied smirk, so she withdrew her hand, nodded and turned on her heel.

What the hell was that?

Richard Castle _kissed_ her.

"You're sure about this?" Montgomery's baritone rumbled through the open door to Observation.

"Is the Pope Catholic?" Rick scoffed.

"Good Luck, Rick." Montgomery clapped his hand on the actor's shoulder. "You're going to need it."

Her head jerked up. There was something wrong about that…

"Beckett," Montgomery called a halt to her strategic retreat. "Can I see you in my office for a minute?"

"Sir?"

He nodded at her and led her down the beaten wooden corridor. She caught Esposito and Ryan staring at her, waiting for the results of the interrogation, and she shrugged at them. She had no idea what was going on. When they stepped in, Montgomery didn't move to close the blinds, a sign Kate hoped was a good omen.

"Hey, wait for me," Castle protested, popping first his head in and then the rest of his tall frame.

She looked from one man to the other, but Montgomery didn't look perturbed by the actor's presence.

"Sir, why is he here?" There was no way she wanted a witness if she was about to be reprimanded. Her Captain didn't look angry, but there was a tight band pulling in his face she recognized as stress. Or trying to hold back a laugh. "Is this about the case?"

"Well, I am a witness," Castle supplied helpfully, altogether too happy.

"No, it's not about the case," Montgomery interrupted. "Castle tells me you're aware that he has been offered a position with the ABC."

"Sir," she replied. What the hell did Castle's daytime soap opera have to do with anything? Last she heard, he hadn't even signed the contract.

"He also told me he has accepted the role." Montgomery shared a smile with his friend. "We are in the company of the next biggest on screen NYPD Homicide Detective."

Her mouth opened a little and then closed again. What was she even supposed to _think_ about that?

"Now we've both talked to the Mayor and the Commissioner. He'll have to sign the paperwork, but Rick here wants to shadow the best Homicide detective New York has to offer and make his performances as authentic as he can."

Both of them looked at her expectantly.

"And that's me?" she managed.

Montgomery smiled.

"No. No, Sir. I can't."

"Why not?" Castle was nearly whining behind her. It was such a world away from the man she had seen back in the Observation room she looked back at the actor just to make sure it was the same person. From the childish pout, she had the feeling the appearance of the normal guy she saw earlier was just a fluke.

"Sir. He is like a nine year old on sugar rush; incapable of taking anything seriously."

"I resent that," Castle protested.

"Sir, no. I'm not going to put my team at risk."

"He's an actor," Montgomery placated her. "How much trouble could he be?"

She didn't bother to list the possible disasters; they would all be listed in the paperwork she was going to have to sign. "This has already been approved, hasn't it?"

"We need the good press and we need Castle to get it right. I know you're aware how much talent Castle could bring to bear on this role. He wants to learn from the best."

Kate barely restrained a glare at her Captain for that little piece of emotional blackmail. He _knew _how much she loved Castle's work and what it meant to her.

He softened the blow a little. "Hey, when the Mayor is happy, the Commissioner is happy and when the Commissioner is happy, I'm happy."

Which translates to, you don't have a choice. Roughly.

"How long, Sir?"

"That's up to him."

Kate turned to face him; maybe if she found a way to incinerate him with her eyes this nightmare wouldn't ever terrorize her reality.

He smirked and blew her a kiss.

"I'm going to need a leash," she muttered.

"Don't worry, partner; I won't bite," he grinned. "Unless you want me to."

...

**Cheers. Don't feel too sorry for Beckett though, we all know the partnership doesn't turn out that badly. **

**As mentioned, here's a section from my upcoming fic, _History Reheating. _Don't know when I'll get to publish it because I'm starting a new degree next week so writing time is going to be scarse. **

**It's basically Natalie making life awkward...again. **

"Are you the officer who took the report?" she asked, resigned.

"Yes Ma'am. Detective."

"Was there another woman with Ms Haas when she filed this report? Maybe a blonde? Tall and looks a lot like -"

"Natalie Rhodes?" the man interjected, the enthusiastic reply blew static in her ear.

Figures.

"She was there?"

"Yeah," the officer on the other end let out his reply on an amazed breath but caught himself and cleared his throat. "She was quite distressed."

"I'll bet she was," Kate muttered sourly.

"Detective?"

"He's not missing. He's just…gone underground."

"I'm not sure I follow."

"You don't have to, just dismiss the case. He's not missing."

"I'm going to need some evidence to officially drop the case. He hasn't been back to his hotel and we have no credit card usage since before he…_went underground_. May I have your permission to review a copy of the call you received from Mr Castle last night?"

She felt her face flame.

"No!"

Her gut clenched just thinking about what he had made her do over the speaker last night, what she had said to him. God she had missed him so much.

:)


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